


The New Doctor

by Writingwife83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attraction, F/M, First Meetings, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 58,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlolly Victorian AU. It's time to examine some bodies, and Sherlock is a bit caught off guard when he meets Saint Bart's new specialist. My take on when Sherlock first encounters and gets to know Dr. Molly Hooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt I had filled for broadwaylover17 on Tumblr. She had requested a Victorian Sherlolly, maybe something that could appear in the Sherlock Special. While I can't begin to imagine what lovely bits of Sherlolly they will offer us in that episode, I just went with the Victorian theme and came up with this one shot. Enjoy! ;)

Sherlock stepped outside his flat, adjusting his hat and smiling. "Lovely day in London, is it not, Watson?"

"Why exactly? Because of the triple suicide discovered last night?"

Sherlock looked indignant. "Perhaps I was about to say it was because the sun is shining."

Watson frowned at him and the detective chuckled.

"Too early for jokes? Yes, you're quite right, of course it's the triple suicide...let's get a carriage to Bart's hospital."

As the two men rode along, John remarked, "What are the chances that three men who are completely unconnected and know nothing of each other would all be found having hanged themselves last night?"

"Incredibly small chances, which is why Inspector Lestrade sent for me, obviously," Sherlock answered casually as he tugged his leather gloves on. "I intend to find proof that these were indeed not suicides, but murders."

John smiled, shaking his head. "So of course the sun is shining today," he muttered to himself.

* * *

Lestrade was waiting for them right outside the door to the morgue in the basement of Bart's hospital.

"Morning, gentlemen. This didn't make sense to any of us, so I had to send for you. I'll bring you in and you can have a look at the bodies."

"Good, let's get to work," Sherlock said eagerly.

Lestrade put a hand on his arm before Sherlock could walk through the doors. "Oh, and I should also mention that there's a new specialist working in the morgue."

Sherlock brushed him off. "Yes, fine, I'm sure I'll see them inside. Let's get on with it."

"Well yes, but I feel I should mention that-"

Sherlock didn't give Lestrade time to finish, and simply opened the door and walked in with John following him.

"That she's a woman," Lestrade said to himself, having nobody listening to him anymore. He sighed and followed the men in.

Sherlock walked into the morgue and saw the three bodies already laid out on tables and covered with a white cloth. He strolled over, discarding his hat and setting it on a nearby table. Sherlock pulled the sheet down to the first man's chest, seeing the obvious rope marks around his neck. He did the same with the other two and walked around the tables, looking at all of them.

"What should we-" John began.

"Shh!" Sherlock hushed him and continued observing, deep in thought.

His eyes narrowed suddenly, and he leaned down closer to one of the bodies. He did the same with the other, and then the other. After a moment, he straightened up again and smiled at Lestrade and John.

"Well, it is certainly a good thing you sent for me, Inspector. It is highly unlikely many others would have been able to so easily tell you that these men died from-"

"Cyanide poisoning."

The sound of the soft, feminine voice made Sherlock whirl around. He frowned in confusion at the small woman who approached them.

"Sorry, Inspector, I had stepped out for just a bit," she said to him with a smile. Then she directed her words to Sherlock and John. "Hello, I am Miss Molly Hooper. Oh! Forgive me, I mean _Dr._ Hooper. I suppose I'm still getting used to it myself!" she laughed a little.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he looked her over. Her small frame was housed in the heather grey and black pin striped dress and simple white hospital apron. Some shorter waves of her shining amber hair fell across her brow and she reached up to brush the locks aside as she looked up at him. She pressed her little lips together as she watched him look her over.

" _You_ are the specialist?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yes, that's right. I can only assume you are Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It's a pleasure to meet you." She smiled again and extended her hand.

Sherlock looked at it almost suspiciously, but he finally took her small hand in his and shook it slowly. As he did, Lestrade began speaking behind him.

"Dr. Hooper was just hired at the urging of Dr. Stamford. He doesn't take many female students, but he felt strongly about her talent. Since her graduation he was eventually able to convince the hospital to take her on. She has extensive knowledge and skill in the area of pathology. She will be an asset to the hospital...and Scotland Yard as well." Lestrade smiled at Molly.

"Rather impressive," John commented quite honestly.

Sherlock let her hand go and said in an almost superior tone, "Hmm, a female doctor...fascinating."

Molly' previously sweet expression hardened a little. She stood up as tall as possible and looked Sherlock dead in the eye. "You object to working with a female doctor, Mr. Holmes?"

Her intense brown eyed stare was met by his blue green one. "On the contrary, Dr. Hooper, the only people I object to working with, male or female, are those who are incompetent. I'm sure you can imagine, the number of individuals who fall into that category are staggering indeed. As long as you are not one of them, I cannot envision a problem between us...professionally speaking."

Molly gave a little nod and a tight smile. "Good...shall we proceed then?"

She walked closer to where Lestrade stood and continued. "I was going to send for you soon. I realized they'd been poisoned with cyanide almost the moment they were brought in. It is an unmistakable odor of-"

"Bitter almonds," Sherlock finished her sentence quickly.

"Yes," she agreed looking at him again. "Though, not everyone can detect it."

Sherlock nodded slowly as his eyes traveled over her again. "No...most cannot."

At this point, John turned slowly to look Lestrade with raised his brows and wide eyes. The Inspector had to control his amused smile.

Sherlock looked down at the bodies again and asked, "Now, did you look at their hands and find any-"

"There was no trace of fibers from the rope used," Molly answered, knowing exactly where his train of thought was headed.

Sherlock's eyes widened in amazement at her words as she turned to get something from a box on the table. She produced a section of rope.

"This is some of the rope used." She handed the piece to Sherlock. "It is made of very course and rough fibers. Naturally, if these men had tied it themselves, there would be bits on their hands. There could even be fibers embedded in the skin. Even if one wished to hang one's self, the natural instinct kicks in as the moment of death is approaching. They would have had their fingers at the rope, pulling aggressively, no doubt."

Sherlock was still feeling the rope in his fingers and watching this surprisingly mesmerizing woman when she seemed to recall something else, and spoke again.

"Oh! And one more thing of note; it is quite clear that these men were all hanged from the same rope. Well, not the same piece shared between the three of them." Molly snickered for a moment at her own wording, laughing at the idea of the three men together on one rope. She looked around at the three men who stared back at her and cleared her throat. "Sorry, um...anyway, what I mean is that it was clearly the same rope that was cut up, and a section used for each of them. So, between that and the clear presence of cyanide, I would feel very sure of the fact that this is a triple homicide."

Sherlock's expression of wonder remained plastered to his face as he watched and listened to her.

"Holmes?" John prompted.

Sherlock blinked a few times and finally turned his head to look at John. "Yes, sorry, what?"

"Did you hear the doctor? She said triple homicide."

Sherlock swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Yes, I uh, yes I know...triple homicide."

He looked back at Molly. "Perhaps I could keep this rope? I would like to examine it more closely, see if I can connect it to a certain manufacturer or business in the area. And I also need to determine what these three men had in common, other than their obvious murders. There has to be a large connection."

"Please, be my guest," she said with a bright smile. "This is where my expertise ends, naturally. I may know what to do with a dead body, but I cannot imagine chasing any live ones around London! Rather a good thing they have a detective to take the reins outside the hospital walls."

The corner of Sherlock's lips twitched up just a bit. "A good thing indeed."

He took a few steps over closer to her and extended his hand again. "Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Hooper. And, of course, we will be seeing each other again very soon. Good day to you." He gave her another small smile and quickly swept out of the room, grabbing his hat on the way.

Molly looked at Lestrade with a small frown. "See him again soon? Is he coming back?"

Lestrade chuckled a little. "I think you should expect to see Mr. Holmes terribly frequently, Dr. Hooper. My apologies, I meant to warn you ahead of time...no doubt he will soon drive you mad!" The Inspector tipped his hat to her and exited the room with John.

Molly smiled after they'd gone. "Yes, I think I might be going mad already," she whispered to herself.

* * *

Sherlock climbed into a carriage with the two men, and soon after it began moving, he said, "Dr. Molly Hooper...she needs to remain in her employment at Bart's."

Lestrade shrugged in confusion. "Well I would venture to say she will. I see no reason she would be let go."

"Yes, but it needs to be ensured," Sherlock said firmly as he looked out the carriage window. "I will speak to my brother and make sure there is never a reason for her employment to be terminated. It is imperative that she stay exactly where she is."

John smiled at Lestrade then said to Sherlock, "and why, may I ask, is that?"

"Because," Sherlock said, turning to face them with a smile.

"I now refuse to work with anyone else."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves sheepishly* Um, hi! So I know I said this was a one shot, but I decided to do another chapter. I got a prompt from fanfiction name "momoiro yuki" for another Victorian Sherlolly scenario. I realized that it would actually work well as a follow up to this one shot. So here we are! I really enjoyed writing this one. Hope you like it! ;D

It was a late night at Bart's hospital. Sherlock didn't mind working late, and he found that his mind tended to come alive at this time of night. There was less distraction from the noise and stupidity of others. Not that he was alone in this instance. He was with Dr. Molly Hooper...but she was far from stupid.

A man had been murdered, found stabbed in his dressing room, and the circumstances were such that Sherlock very strongly suspected that the man's wife had killed him. She seemed unstable when he spoke to her, and she kept saying that this "shouldn't have happened...it didn't have to happen." It struck him as odd. Wouldn't a widowed woman ask why it had happened, or how? It seemed to him she was indicating that it could have been prevented. If that was the case...she probably knew how and why it happened.

The problem was that the man was rather tall and strong, while his wife was small and slight. There were only so many circumstances in which a woman of that size could have overpowered, and stabbed, a man like that. She seemed to have come out of it unscathed too. If Sherlock could pin down exactly how the wife had managed it, he felt sure he could force a confession from her.

That was where Dr. Hooper came in so handy.

Molly yawned and brushed some hair from her face. She had already been here an hour past the end of her shift. She didn't really mind helping Sherlock. She enjoyed it actually, and had been working with him a lot over the months since their first meeting. But it happened to be the end of an already long day, and she'd been yelled at by a supervisor earlier. So she was definitely looking forward to snuggling into her bed.

But instead, it seemed she was going to be here a while longer...roll playing a murder.

Sherlock threw his jacket and necktie on a empty table, leaving him in his shirt and vest. He walked over to where Molly stood, and it suddenly occurred to her that this would involve a fair amount of physical contact. She wished he didn't look so absolutely delicious right now...

"Now, we'll have to try a few different scenarios," he stated, looking her over. He glanced around him on a nearby table and spotted a scalpel handle with no blade attached. He picked it up and handed it to Molly. "Use this as the weapon."

"Ok," she answered and looked up at him nervously. "So, shall I just come at you then?"

"Absolutely, Dr. Hooper. And do try to get angry," he said with an eyebrow raised in challenge.

Molly gulped and tried to reach inside and summon some sort of aggression. She replayed the conversation with the stupid, and obviously sexist, supervisor earlier that day and was able to fan the flames of anger again. She took a breath and lunged at Sherlock, bringing the tool up as if to stab him.

Unfortunately, Sherlock immediately reached up, grabbing her arms. Molly let out a little squeak as he twisted her around and restrained her arms with her back against him. She felt her face turn red hot. _Dear God, his arms!_

Sherlock let go and Molly took a few steps back again, clearing her throat and nervously smoothing her skirts. She could have been misreading, but it seemed like Sherlock had become a little nervous as well.

"Forgive me, I hope I wasn't..."

"Oh no, it's fine!" she said quickly, and added a smile. "I'm perfectly fine."

Sherlock nodded. "Hmm, well, I question whether she really came at him like that. Perhaps..." He looked thoughtful, then turned with his back to her. "Try attacking me from behind."

"Oh, but Mr. Davidson had no stab wounds in his back."

"Yes but you could jump on my back," he said casually.

"Jump on your back?" Molly questioned with a laugh. But he seemed to be serious. "Well, I um, don't want to hurt you."

Sherlock chuckled. "Honestly, Dr. Hooper, I believe I am perfectly safe. Come on, up you go." He patted his shoulder.

Molly shook her head. "Well, all right..." She took a few steps of a running start and jumped up, landing on his back and wrapping her arms around his shoulders to keep herself in place.

"I um, don't think I can stab you like this!" she said with a grunt as she demonstrated her limited arm mobility. "I don't think the angle and leverage is right."

Sherlock seemed almost completely unfazed by the weight of her hanging off his shoulders. That wasn't exactly true though. It may not have been an issue of discomfort, but he was suddenly very distracted. Her face was pressed against the side of his head and he could feel her breath on his cheek as he heard her words so near his ear...

"Yes, er...perhaps you're right. Besides, I would have full use of my arms to fend you off. I could slam you against a wall or flip you off my back...which I won't do."

"Aren't you a gentleman?" Molly quipped with a laugh.

Her breath tickled his face again and he quickly bent his knees, making her feet touch the floor and setting her down. He tugged his vest straight again and set his hands on his hips, trying to clear his head and also think of any more options.

"She had to have been in front of him, but how did she manage it? He would have fought her off somehow. Though all she would have needed was one good hit, and then the subsequent few stabs would have been easier to manage." He paced around the room a little.

Molly's eyes widened. "Wait a minute! Mr. Holmes, did you see the body at the scene?"

"No. Inspector Lestrade had me come in after he was already brought here. Why?"

"Well, I just remembered something that you might not be aware of. And I think it may hold the key to how Mrs. Davidson managed this."

Molly stuck the scalpel handle in her apron pocket, went over to a drawer and took out a thick brown paper wrapped bundle. She set it on the table and unwrapped it. Inside were some bloody clothes.

"These are the clothes that Mr. Davidson was wearing when he was brought in. Now, the shirt and vest are all bloodied, but do you notice anything strange about them?"

Sherlock laid the two garments out and looked at them, picking up on what Molly was referring to immediately. "They aren't damaged," he said in a fascinated tone.

"Exactly! I didn't think much of it when they brought him in. His shirt and vest were open, and I supposed that made sense, seeing as one might open a person's shirt if they've been injured. But if they're not damaged, that means-"

"His chest was bare when he was stabbed," Sherlock finished her thought.

"Exactly." Molly nodded. "So, my best guess would be that he was a bit...distracted."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her.

Molly blushed and shrugged. "It would have worked. If she concealed the knife and was convincing enough, I can't see how he wouldn't have had enough time to react."

"You don't think he would have noticed her take out the knife?" he questioned.

Molly paused as she saw Sherlock still thinking. She wasn't sure where the burst of boldness came from, but she suddenly closed the distance between them, standing directly in front of his chest. She slid one hand up the front of his vest, along the buttons and then up around his neck. She stared into his rapidly widening eyes as she pushed her fingers into the shorter hair around the back on the back of his head. She got up on tiptoes and brought her face so close to his that their noses almost touched. Molly was almost distracted from her purpose as she felt his hands come up to very lightly rest on the sides of her waist.

"Mr. Holmes?" she breathed out.

"Yes?" he answered softly, and his voice cracked.

"What are you thinking right now?" she whispered, as her gaze flitted back and forth from his eyes to his lips.

"I uh, I...I think...I think that you...Ugh!" he groaned as he felt a little punch in his gut. He looked down to see Molly's fist closed around the scalpel handle and pressing into his middle. He looked back to her face and she was smiling happily.

"I don't believe you were thinking about the fact that I reached in my pocket and got out a knife, Mr. Holmes," she said with a pleased expression.

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked a little embarrassed, but still couldn't tear his eyes off her face. They stood there, Molly's arm still locked around his neck, staring into each others eyes for a moment.

And unfortunately, that was when the door opened and Molly's supervisor walked in. She quickly jumped back from Sherlock and felt another blush grace her cheeks under the infuriated gaze of the man before them.

"Dr. Hooper!" his voice boomed. "I assumed you had gone for the night. I came in, seeing that there were lights on, and I find this?! This is a hospital, not a brothel! Perhaps it is now clear why you are so terribly popular."

"No no, sir! This is hardly what it seems," she said nervously. "It's a murder investigation! Look, I was stabbing him!" she lifted the metal interment to show him, but quickly put it down on the table, realizing how ridiculous she sounded.

"Excuse me, sir, but this is indeed a murder investigation. I take full resp-" Sherlock began.

"I was not speaking to you!" the man said as he pointed at Sherlock. "She is our employee, and the one who should have enough sense to conduct herself as a lady should! I knew it was a mistake to hire you. I cannot imagine why I listened to Dr. Stamford. This is the sort of foolishness that comes from hiring a woman!"

"Mr. Richards, please! Just give me another chance!" she said desperately.

"The likes of you don't deserve another chance! You shouldn't have been hired in the first place. I expect you in my office at nine sharp tomorrow morning, at which time you will be officially dismissed by myself and my colleagues. Good night!" The man marched off in a huff before Sherlock or Molly could say another word.

Molly pressed her lips together in the thick silence of the room and stared at the door where the man had left. She felt a lump forming in her throat and didn't want to break down like a child in front of Sherlock. She gathered up the dead man's clothes and quickly wrapped them up, stuffing them back in their drawer. She tugged at the string of her apron and pulled it off over her head, tossing it on the table.

"Dr. Hooper, I-"

"It's fine," she said shaking her head. "It's not your fault. If it wasn't this, surely it would have been something else eventually. You heard him; he hasn't wanted me here from the start. I was silly to think I could work here," she said bitterly.

"Just a minute," Sherlock tried to stop her as she went for the door. "Everything will be fine. Surely you can speak to them in the morning and explain-"

"Mr. Holmes," she said in a tired voice. "You don't understand. If such a thing had happened to you at Scotland Yard, there would be no consequence at all. You must know that. In fact, your colleagues would likely congratulate you! I am a woman doing a man's job in a man's hospital. I will not even be _allowed_ to explain myself. I do not have that luxury...and I probably never will."

Sherlock stared back at her, seeing the hopelessness in her eyes, and he knew she was right.

"I suppose I should be grateful for the time I got to be here and the experience I gained," she said while looking down at her hands. Then she looked back up at him. "Good night, Mr. Holmes. I...wish you all the best."

Molly turned and left quickly, leaving Sherlock alone in the half lit morgue. He stood there for a moment, then gathered up his coat, jacket, and necktie.

"This will not do," he whispered to himself as he pushed through the door of the morgue.

* * *

At half past eight the next morning, Mr. Richards, Dr. Stamford, and a couple other men sat chatting in an office. They were surprised when they saw the door open, and Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes enter the room.

"Uh, gentlemen, good morning. I was not expecting anyone. I thought we had a meeting set up for next week, Mr. Holmes," Mr. Richards directed toward Mycroft, who was by far the main source of donated funds for the hospital.

"This is hardly a planned meeting," Mycroft said calmly as he took a seat. "I am here to, shall we say, endorse what my brother has to say."

"Mr. Holmes, if this is anything to do with the events of last night," the man said to Sherlock. "I can assure you that our minds are already made up."

"How unfortunate for me," Sherlock sneered. "Though I do enjoy a challenge. So I suppose I shall just have to _change_ your minds." Sherlock couldn't help but notice the very slight gleam in Dr. Stamford's eye as he listened quietly.

Mr. Richards began chuckling and shaking his head. He leaned forward at his desk. "Mr. Holmes, I think there is a much simpler solution than coming to me and bothering with this fuss. If you cannot do without the... _pleasure_ of Miss Hooper's company, well then perhaps you should simply take her as your wife. Or, if I may be plain, take her as your mistress...if you'd rather not have the trouble of a family quite yet." The man wore a smug smile as he finished speaking.

The two men in the room who knew Sherlock the best could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears. Mycroft and Dr. Stamford looked as if they were ready to take cover under the nearest piece of furniture.

Sherlock clenched his jaw for a long moment before glaring at the stupid man again. "Mr. Richards, first of all, may I remind you that in this setting you are to address Miss Molly Hooper by her _professional_ title, which is Dr. Hooper, in case you have forgotten. And now, let me make very clear that I am here to argue for my need of Dr. Hooper's professional abilities. I find that I cannot do without her. I question if the same could be said about you by all your colleagues."

"No need to stoop to insults, Mr. Holmes. And so far, you are hardly changing my mind!"

"I've only just begun," he said with a grin. "I thought I should mention that I did some rough calculations, and do you know what I came up with? I solve cases faster in the past nine months; an average of half a day faster. The other idiots who had occupied Dr. Hooper's position at this hospital were not half as competent as she is, and worlds less helpful and considerate. Would you like to explain to Scotland Yard why it will begin taking me much longer to solve cases?"

"That is...ridiculous," Mr. Richards said with a nervous chuckle and looked around at the other men in the room, only to find blank faces who gave him none of the feedback he'd like.

"Is it? Well as an added piece of evidence, perhaps I should make it clear, as I did last night that Dr. Hooper and I were indeed working on solving a case. You might find it interesting to know that Inspector Lestrade made an arrest this morning...and very soon after got a confession. _That_ was due to Dr. Hooper's assistance." Sherlock got up from his chair and placed his palms on the desk, leaning over to stare menacingly at the man. His words were practically growls. "And if you think it is any of your business what I do, or do not want when it comes to the woman behind the professional title, then we have more to discuss once we are outside the walls of this hospital. That has _nothing_ to do with my presence here today...and I _dare you_ to say otherwise."

Mr. Richards desperately looked behind Sherlock at Mycroft, only to find the elder Holmes raise his eyebrows, confirming the seriousness of the words that had just been spoken. The man looked around nervously at his other colleagues and got glances that proved he hadn't a chance to combat this. He sighed and picked up a paper at the side of the desk.

"This, Mr. Holmes, is Dr. Hooper's official letter of dismissal." He hesitated, and then tore the page from top to bottom. He threw the pieces in the bin beside his desk and looked up at Sherlock. "Happy?"

The corner of Sherlock's lips curled up as he straightened up again. "Deliriously so, aren't we Mycroft?"

"Please don't make me do any of the talking in this instance," Mycroft said under his breath.

"I trust our meeting is still on for next week?" Mr. Richards asked Mycroft nervously.

Mycroft gave him a quick smile. "It is now."

Mr. Richards added. "I suppose Dr. Hooper should be grateful that she happens to have friends in such high places."

"I will remind you that this is due to her professional skills. I would never come to the aid of a anyone who is not worth the trouble. You would do well to remember that, Mr. Richards. Perhaps you should hire more women, and your turnover rate would not be so rapid. Oh, and I should also mention that our presence here is not to be mentioned when you see Dr. Hooper in..." Sherlock opened his pocket watch. "Twenty minutes. You will inform her that upon further consideration, you have decided that her specific set of skills cannot be spared. You will, of course, also apologize for insulting her virtue last night without cause. The only discipline you are to voice is to do with me. You may tell her that...she is not to allow me the run of the hospital."

Even Mycroft gave Sherlock a surprised sideways glance at that point, which the detective didn't see.

Mr. Richards reluctantly nodded after glancing around at the other men for a second. "As you wish, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock and Mycroft made their way through the door. Sherlock took the time to tip his hat to Dr. Stamford and was pleased to see the badly concealed thrilled look on the man's face.

The truth was that Dr. Stamford was just about to make a very similar argument before the Holmes men arrived. When all was said and done though, he couldn't help but think...Sherlock made it sound _much_ better!

* * *

ONE WEEK LATER

"Good day, Dr. Hooper," Sherlock said as he swept into the morgue.

Molly turned to see him and he couldn't help but notice the way her face lit up as she did. "Mr. Holmes, hello! I had wondered where you'd got to. Been busy, have you?"

"Mm, yes," he lied as he strolled over to the table that held a body he was to examine. He felt it was only wise to give things a bit of time to cool down before he dive back into the hospital as he had been before. "And I see things...worked out?"

"Oh, yes!" Molly said happily. "I was so shocked. They actually said they couldn't do without me. Granted Dr. Stamford did most of the talking. I'm sure if it was Mr. Richards alone he would have sent me off for sure."

_Not surprising,_ Sherlock thought. "Did Mr. Richards say...anything?" he asked as casually as he could.

Molly nodded. "Well, he did apologize for...accusing me of anything indecent. So, that was nice."

"Yes, very nice," Sherlock said with a small smile. _Very nice I won't have to arrange for him to be taught any further lesson. That would be an added inconvenience._

"Oh and I never thanked you. You did try to say something to him that night. I know he didn't listen to you, but I do appreciate that you tried."

Sherlock smiled at her, hiding secrets behind his lips that he was happy to keep. "Well the truth is that it wouldn't matter what anyone said...if you were not one of the best in your field."

Molly's cheeks flushed again and she smiled shyly. "Really? Do you think so?"

"I don't say things that I don't mean. This hospital should be grateful to have you." His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he drew a breath and spoke again. "Now...shall we get to work?"

"Yes, let's," she answered with a contented smile.

Sherlock happily worked alongside Molly for the next half hour before he reluctantly left the hospital again. He was glad that he had helped secure her position there, and hoped that from now on they would all remember to look at her as the skilled professional that she was...and not just as a skirt. He had certainly never been blind to her talents, and he didn't want anyone else to be either.

There were some things that Sherlock Holmes was still blind to though. Although he fully understood how important Molly Hooper was to his work...

He had yet to admit how vital she was to his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do so love writing a viciously protective Sherlock! And although Molly is a strong and independent woman, this was an unlikely (almost impossible) time for a woman to hold a job and be respected for it the same as a man would. So I liked the idea of Sherlock making sure things turned out ok for her. And btw, momoiro yuki's prompt was for a Victorian Sherlolly where Molly was caught with Sherlock in some kind of compromising situation and her reputation was called into question. That was what inspired this. I just didn't want to totally detail it till you had read everything. Thanks for reading and hope to hear your thoughts! ;)  
> 6/2/15 EDIT- THIS IS NOW A WIP AND I WILL BE POSTING THE NEW CHAPTERS ON FANFICTION AS THEY COME. THEY WILL BE POSTED HERE WHEN THE FIC IS COMPLETE. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to start getting this fic up to date here on AO3, since it's now complete on FF. :) I'll be updating a couple chapters at a time on here at regular intervals. Enjoy, lovely readers! ;D

Molly took the report from the officer and carefully read it over.

"I see…so no family at all?" she asked.

"None. Seems he had been a beggar for some time. Others on the street knew him and said he was alone and had no living relations. We've done our end of the paperwork, so you're welcome to do your part and get the poor bloke donated for teaching purposes."

Molly smiled sympathetically for a moment at the man lying on the table, then looked back at the officer.

"Thank you, officer." Molly gave him a warm smile, uncustomary for such a dark business. "I think our poor Mr. Waters may still have some noble purpose yet."

The office tipped his hat briefly and smiled in return. "Good afternoon, Doctor."

He walked out of the morgue and Molly waited till she could hear his footsteps having gotten far down the hospital corridor. Once she was satisfied with the sound of silence, she left the morgue, locking the door behind her. She hurried to the back exit and went down the alley alongside the building. As soon as she did, she saw who she hoped she would.

"Afternoon, Mr. Wiggins," Molly said brightly to the somewhat gloomy young man leaning against the brick.

"Afternoon to you, ma'am."

"I was rather hoping you'd be in the area. I was wondering if you'd um...mind delivering a message to Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

A knowing gleam shone in the perceptive man's eyes. "My pleasure, Dr. Hooper. What would you like to tell me? Or should I guess?"

Molly raised an amused eyebrow and chuckled as she crossed her arms over her middle. "All right, go on."

"Hmm…you've just got a body in, I'd say. Male, mid-fifties, beggar…no family connections. To be donated I reckon. Am I getting warm?" he asked with a smirk.

"Very clever, Mr. Wiggins," she said with another laugh. "Though, you already knew about the man's death, I'm sure!"

"But I had to deduce that was the message you wanted me to deliver to Mr. Holmes…and was I correct?"

She gave him a smile and a nod. "Indeed you were, well done. Now, off you go and tell Mr. Holmes that if he's interested in helping me, he'd better be quick about it. I'll only be here for five more hours."

"Consider it done, Doctor," Wiggins winked at her and immediately was off on his way.

Molly smiled to herself, took a few nice deep breaths of fresh air, and then went back inside the basement of the hospital and back to work.

* * *

Sherlock stalked across the floor of his flat and flung himself down into his chair, his dressing gown whirling around as he did.

"Honestly, Watson, what in God's name can you be doing that is so important?! You've been sitting at that desk for about two hours!" the detective said with an irritated sigh.

"Why do you care, Holmes?" John countered, not looking up from his page. "Go do something else and kindly stop bothering me!"

"I should very much like to _do something,_ but it seems there is nothing to do! Everything is too…quiet." He immediately narrowed his eyes after speaking those words, jumped up, and grabbed his violin.

As the loud music began directly behind John's head, he groaned and set his pen down. "Must you do that now?! I really am trying to concentrate!"

"As am I, Watson…must organize my mind!"

John rubbed his face for a moment before picking his pen up again and putting it to the paper. A moment later, he smudged the ink badly and muttered some choice words under his breath. He crumpled that paper and put it in the pile of other discarded attempts. He'd never get this letter written!

Sherlock soon set his instrument down again though, as the two men heard a knock at the door. He opened the door to a smiling Mrs. Hudson who held a small note in her hand.

"Mr. Holmes, would you mind teaching those...friends of yours some manners? Young Mr. Wiggins nearly gave me a heart attack! Barged right into my kitchen to give me this for you."

He gave the older woman a winning smile. "Will do, Mrs. Hudson. Though I do think the element of surprise can do wonders for the heart…keeps you young!"

"Oh, you!" She laughed and gave his cheek a pat as she handed over the note.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson!" he called as he shut the door and began unfolding the paper.

"What's that?" John questioned, but got no answer as Sherlock silently read.

His eyes scanned the page and a smile very quickly displayed itself on his lips.

_Mr. Holmes,_

_The lovely Dr. Hooper says she's got something good for you at the morgue. Be there before six._

_-WW_

"Well?" John asked again.

"Remember that peace and quiet you were so longing for?" Sherlock asked as he threw the note down on the desk and went for his coat and hat. "Well I do believe you've got it. Afternoon, John! I will likely be gone till dark!" After a quick grin, the suddenly cheery man was out the door and on his way.

John frowned at his friend's rapid departure, then picked up the note he'd thrown on the desk. He read it and chuckled lightly.

"Bless you, Dr. Hooper…I can finally write my letter," John said with a smile as he took out another piece of paper.

Pen contacted the blank sheet, and he whispered the words aloud as he wrote.

"Dear…Miss…Morstan…"

* * *

Molly was huffing in annoyance with her hair as she anticipated Sherlock's arrival. None of her male colleagues would ever understand the struggle of trying to do a difficult and rather physical job all while wearing a corset and attempting to keep a bunch of hair attractively pinned in place. It was a bit unfair in her estimation. If she was doing a man's job, she should be allowed to dress as comfortable as they were able to.

 _Once social hurdle at a time,_ she reminded herself.

Molly picked the pin from her mouth and began securing the final rebellious strand of hair. As she did, the man of the hour strolled into the room looking nothing short of giddy.

"Dr. Hooper," he said with a clap of his palms together as he approached the table. "What have we got today?"

"Mr. Holmes, you were just as quick as I expected." She wore a sly smile as she came over to join him.

"Wouldn't miss this sort of chance." His voice dropped an octave and his eyes smiled." Please, do tell me this is what I think…"

She nodded happily. "This poor fellow's got a lot to do before he reaches his final resting place. Set to be donated for teaching!"

"Ah haha!" He grinned and tossed his hat and coat aside onto Molly's desk. "I very much hoped you would say that!"

Molly looked him over silently as he began simultaneously examining the enticing corpse. She had long since surrendered to the truth that she was completely enamored with this strange and brilliant man. She wondered if she ever even had a chance of avoiding it. How could she not love him? It confounded her that there were people who couldn't stand to be in his company when she was sure she'd be happy to spend the rest of her life in it.

"It is a good thing you were without a pressing case," she added, to fill some silence.

"Mm," he hummed, not looking up but continuing to check the body. His head shot up a second later though and he frowned. "I should probably ask, are we…likely to have anyone pop in today?"

"Ah yes, that's right!" Molly rushed past him and bolted the door before turning back to face him. "And then we just hope nobody knocks. I'm sure it will be fine though. Mr. Richards isn't here today, and that's most important. I don't think I would have sent for you if he'd been here today!"

"Mr. Richards," Sherlock grumbled. "Why can't I work out a feasible way to get him sacked? He's an idiot…idiots give me a headache."

"I can't exactly complain. I doubt that anyone else who's hired in his place would be any more thrilled to have a female doctor working for them. I'd better be thankful for what I have."

"I know I'm thankful for what I have at the moment." He grinned at her.

Molly's cheeks turned pink. "You…you are?" she asked, her voice cracking a bit.

"Absolutely…this corpse is exactly what I needed today!" he announced happily.

Molly laughed nervously and grabbed the tray of tools to carry over. "Right, of course. I um, thought you'd like it."

Sherlock took the tray from her as she approached and set it down on the table nearby. "So, how much leeway do we have? Is he actually going to be donated, or are you going to let me chop him up and use every last piece however I see fit?"

It occurred to Molly that she was glad nobody else could hear this very odd conversation.

"He will indeed be donated. But that doesn't mean he has to be exactly as you see him now. I will naturally make records of having done my own post mortem examination. So that gives us at least the freedom to open him up and…have a little look."

Sherlock took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves. "Dr. Hooper…" He picked up a scalpel. "May I do the honors?"

"Indeed you may, Mr. Holmes," she said with a smile that would have screamed her affection aloud had she had been speaking to any other man but him.

* * *

"I don't see why not!" Sherlock complained.

"Mr. Holmes, I cannot allow you to actually open up his skull and remove his brain," she said with a laugh. "I know you're enjoying yourself, but I do not believe I could come up with a believable reason for my going that far in this particular examination."

"Dr. Hooper, you never can tell when there may be volatile poison present!" He gave her a mock look of judgment.

"Honestly, we cannot go that far. We have long ago concluded that this was a simply heart attack." She shook her head. "Besides, I think my shift is nearly done. We might have company soon, so you'll need to get going."

Sherlock sighed. "Too bad I can't…take anything home." He turned slowly to look into her eyes with a puppy dog expression.

Molly rolled her eyes at his display. He was terribly obvious…and yet she could say the same thing of herself.

"Whatever could I give you?!"

"Well, for example, one doesn't technically need both kidneys. And if we're being really technical, he doesn't even need _any!_ "

"Naturally I don't think I'm concerned about the…patient, Mr. Holmes," she said with a laugh. "I'm more concerned about how it will look if this man is found to be missing anything after he leaves my care."

"Yes but-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, but the answer is no," she stated more firmly and held unwavering eye contact as she said it.

Sherlock gaze warmed very briefly. It was a bit unlike him, since he was a man who usually expected to get what he wanted. He didn't take kindly to being contradicted, refused, or made to wait. And yet, there was something he enjoyed about the fact that sometimes, Dr. Molly Hooper would simply say "no." He found it difficult to describe, but it was somewhat… _endearing?_ No, that couldn't be the right word. But he definitely could say he respected her professionalism.

"I see," he said with a nod. "Well then, I suppose it is indeed time to close him up."

"It is. I think you'd better leave me to it though. Not usually your area is it? If you'd like to go, it's perfectly fine." She turned her back to him and began working on closing Mr. Water's chest cavity back up again.

Sherlock vacillated. Despite the fact that he'd had his fun, he couldn't quite make himself say "good evening" and exit the way he'd come in. He silently blamed John since the blasted man was always plaguing his mind with guilt trips and lectures about his social behavior. He shuddered to think that any of it might actually be rubbing off!

"Will you be..." He cleared his throat as he pulled off the gloves she had lent him. "Walking home then?"

"Mm hm," she answered without turning.

Sherlock looked around, unsure what to do with himself. He hesitated to make any sort of offer to escort her home...no, best not to do that. He opted for something a bit more indirect.

"I think I should mention, though I believe you're already somewhat aware, that my group of employees are never far away."

Molly turned to look at him as he had come over closer. "Um...employees?"

"Well, employees of sorts. My Baker Street irregulars." He smiled.

"Ah yes! They're lovely; the ones I've met." She frowned up at him. "What were you meaning that they're never far away?"

Sherlock picked up his jacket, coat, and hat as he fumbled through a response. "I was simply meaning that you walk...alone...at odd hours. I find that most of the cases I am forced to contend with, tedious though this may be, are petty street crimes. Some of them do include minor acts of violence. London is certainly not getting safer for the general public, which frankly I find intriguing and fascinating from a professional standpoint, but naturally it does call for a bit more caution in certain areas of life and for certain-"

"Mr. Holmes?" she cut him off.

"Hm?"

"Thank you." Molly smiled softly. "I very much appreciate your kind concern."

The genuine gratitude and emotion in her voice made Sherlock all the more flustered and uncomfortable with this conversation.

"Simply a practical suggestion for you, Dr. Hooper. It would be irresponsible not to take basic safety precautions." He donned his hat and shrugged his jacket over his shoulders in quick succession. "Besides, can't have anything disrupting the working order of this hospital morgue. Then where would we be?"

"Complaining most bitterly, I imagine."

Sherlock gave her another smile that she could tell would be haunting her for days.

"Well...you managed to salvage a terribly dull evening, Dr. Hooper. I am grateful for that. You likely have the gratitude of Dr. Watson as well. He was becoming more irate with every passing moment till I finally left the flat. This surely afforded him some much needed time to himself."

"Glad to have helped," she smiled shyly.

"Good evening, Dr. Hooper."

"To you too, Mr. Holmes. And I'll be sure to send word if anything else...becomes available."

He gave her a nod and finally turned and exited the morgue.

Molly was frozen for a moment after he disappeared. He was like a storm, and once he'd blown through and left damage in his wake, she was forced to pick up the emotional pieces after he'd gone. Sometimes she had to remember how to breathe again.

And she was a little ashamed to admit that she was always praying for the next storm to hit as soon as possible.

* * *

"Enjoy yourself tonight?" Watson asked from his seat by the fire as Sherlock came through the door.

"Indeed." He hung up his coat and hat. "Obviously you did as well."

"Tea?" Watson asked as Sherlock took a seat across from him. No verbal answer was needed and he began pouring some into the extra cup he'd put on the tray just in case his friend got back in time.

Sherlock took the cup and silently sipped as he stared off into space.

A smile crept onto John's face and he set his book on his lap. "Are you back on Baker Street...or at you still at Bart's hospital right now?"

Sherlock's eyes shot to his friend's and he frowned. "Don't speak cryptically, Watson," he spat out.

"All right, I'll be more direct then, shall I?" John said with a laugh, and leaned forward. "Is your mind still on the hospital...and Dr. Hooper?"

The frown on Sherlock's brow deepened. "Why on earth would I be thinking about Dr. Hooper? What sort of question is that? What exactly is there to think about? She's incredibly straight forward and uncomplicated; nothing mysterious to dwell on is there? I can't imagine using any large portion of my mind on such an individual!" He finished his rapid answer with what John would call a rather nervous laugh.

John pursed his lips and tried not to break out in laughter himself. "Well...that certainly answers my question then, doesn't it? My apologies for assuming."

"Apology accepted," he answered quickly and went back to sipping his tea.

"Though I confess you give me plenty of reasons to assume such things lately." John smirked.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, took aim, and fired. "Perhaps we should change the subject. I might make assumptions, or should I say deductions, of my own. For instance, there was a considerable amount of paper wasted this afternoon. I deduce that it was the fault of a certain...Miss Morstan."

John choked on his tea as Sherlock looked on with a smug grin.


	4. Chapter 4

"Apologies, Dr. Hooper, I didn't think it would take this long," Inspector Lestrade said sincerely. "I'm sorry to have made you come out this long after your shift."

"No need to apologize, Inspector," Molly said with a weary smile. "A man died. Someone had to help deal with it. Everyone else was busy with...their families by this time of night." She looked a little embarrassed.

Sherlock was standing to the side busily making notes in his little book, not paying much attention to the conversation, or so it seemed.

"Will you be all right getting home? I don't mind taking you in the carriage," Lestrade offered.

"No its fine, Inspector. I'm not far from home. I suppose it's rather handy that this poor man was found beaten less than ten minutes from my flat." She smiled brightly, and then her face fell. "Actually, I suppose there's nothing good about that is there?"

Lestrade smiled in return and touched her shoulder gently. "Thank you again for coming out. We'll make sure he gets safely to Bart's tonight."

The Inspector walked away and Molly turned her attention to the detective. She walked slowly over, peering at the notes he was making.

"Anything telling?" she questioned.

"A few things." He snapped the little notebook shut and shoved it and the pencil into his pocket. "There were almost certainly three men that took part in the beating. There are distinctive shoe prints in the dirt, and they differ in size. This is also the second beating we've discovered within the week...a bit unusual."

"Do you think they're connected?"

"Most likely. Though I'll have a better idea once I know more about this victim. Watson is speaking to some of the nearby witnesses and getting what he can from them." He shifted focus and eyed her more carefully. "So I had correctly deduced you have no family."

Molly blushed at the sudden focus on her. "Oh, um, yes. I have no family."

"You seem a bit of a contradiction Dr. Hooper. Not the kind to distance yourself from people, and yet you choose a solitary life and daily working with the dead."

Molly's expression turned a little sad. "Well, it fascinates me. And also, perhaps it's the closest I can get to being with the people I miss most," she said in a small voice.

Sherlock stared down at her, having little to offer in response to a comment like that. He hardly understood the concept of long term mourning...or maybe even short term.

"Both parents?" he asked simply.

She nodded. "My mother died when I was very small and my father three years ago. I have no siblings."

"Count your blessing there," he muttered.

"I suppose there's a part of me that wishes for a family of my own. But in that regard...well, I'm a bit like you, Mr. Holmes."

He couldn't imagine how.

"I chose my work, my career, over the pursuit of family. The difference between us of course is that you could certainly have both if you wanted. For me, I knew very quickly that it would be one or the other."

Sherlock drew a breath and let it out slowly. "Ah yes, the tedious reality of social constraints upon women. The decision was made for you, long before you ever decided it consciously. Either the work that you love...or a family. A shame really, that our roles were not reversed. I should happily be held to a life of work without the chance of a family to go with it. You, on the other hand..." His voice dropped a bit lower. "Clearly, you want more."

Molly's brown eyes widened a bit as she looked up at him in the dim yellow glow of the street lamp.

"Well, as I said, it's what I chose. This is what I wanted, and I am content." Her answer was honest, but that didn't mean his deduction had been wrong. Did she want more? Of course. She _ached_ for more. It was only the thought of giving up the work that she loved which made her stay the course and stand her ground.

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back. "And so you should be. I believe you'll be glad in the end. If gentlemen today are foolish enough to overlook a woman whose mind is successfully focused on intellectual pursuits, I fail to see why you should miss their company."

"No, I can sincerely say that I do not long for the company of gentlemen like that." She smiled, and a moment later couldn't help the yawn that forced itself out of her lips. "Pardon me, Mr. Holmes, I believe I should get myself home."

"Tomorrow then?"

"I won't be working till the afternoon. I would certainly come in earlier if I could...not as if I've got anything else really. But I can't exactly do that," she said with a short laugh. "Another doctor will be working in the morning if you stop by."

He nodded. "Noted. Goodnight then, Dr. Hooper."

"Yes, goodnight." She smiled and turned to walk away, dipping in and out of the light as she passed underneath each street lamp.

Sherlock wasn't sure how long he stood there, but was shaken from his trance as John came up and touched his arm.

"I've got a couple of people on the street who said they could hear the fight through their opened windows. It definitely sounds like there were at least two others with the victim."

"Mm, three," Sherlock corrected.

"Well anyway, what they heard was helpful. The victim, it seemed, was yelling 'I promise I won't tell, please don't hurt me! I swear I barely saw his face!' Basically it was all things like that."

"Seems that our victim saw something, or someone, that he wasn't supposed to. There has been an increase in criminal activity in the past couple of weeks. I wonder if there's new...management in the area," Sherlock said thoughtfully.

"Possibly. Though, it seems they prefer to stay concealed."

"My thoughts exactly." He frowned as John let out a lengthy yawn. "Can't anybody besides me handle a late night?"

"Honestly, no," John answered immediately. "I'd like to get back home and go to sleep now, since I have something to do in the morning."

"Ah yes, that's right. This wouldn't have to do with a certain invitation to meet for tea from the illusive Miss Morstan, would it?" Sherlock grinned.

John groaned. "Did you read the letter she sent me?!"

"It was right on the table, what you do expect me to do?"

"Not open it!"

Sherlock chuckled. "Obviously that's not a reasonable request."

"Obviously," John muttered bitterly. "Anyway, I'm off. I'll walk; it'll be quicker than trying to find a carriage at this time of night. Come with me if you'd like, but I don't want to wait around here any longer."

"I'm going to wait till the body is removed. Might want to have one more look around when nobody else is in my way."

"Suit yourself. Goodnight, Holmes," John said with a wave as he began walking off.

Sherlock waited patiently till the body had been removed, and the Yard had finished their business, and finally all the people had gone. The darkness was his only companion after that, and sometimes that was just how he liked it.

He stepped back into the darkened alley and walked slowly around; hands clasped behind his back, and face serious in thought. He tried to imagine the scene and how everyone had moved, based on where the body was lying and the layout of the alley. He glanced down at the blood stains that remained on the ground. Just as he closed his eyes and began to work at carefully filing away all the important information he'd gathered thus far, his eyes shot open again.

Sherlock looked around, frowning. What was that noise? It was almost a…squeaking.

He tried to follow the sound and further down the alley and came to a could overturned trash bins. Once he got closer and the sound continued, he became surer of what it was that he was hearing. He pushed aside one of the bins and, and sure enough…

A tiny little kitten came creeping out.

The mewing was almost comically high pitched, and it was certainly desperate. Sherlock stood there staring down at the tiny creature, not really sure what to do at first. But the kitten made the decision for him.

The little orange tabby trotted over, his mewing finally reducing in volume and frequency, and began batting at one of his shoe laces.

Sherlock frowned. "No…no…not a toy!" He tried to speak firmly, unable to shove it away with his foot on account of how incredibly small it was. He honestly didn't know what to do.

"I'm sure you're trying to draw me in, but I have no use for cats. If you were a dog, well the outcome may be different. No hard feelings, but I'll just be leaving now," he stated matter-of-factly, and then turned to walk away.

The kitten attempted running after him, but was unsuccessful due to the massive difference in leg length and so began mewing loudly again.

Sherlock was annoyed at himself because he couldn't seem to make himself continue to walk further away. He stopped and turned again, seeing the little ball of fur mewing pitifully in the shadows.

He sighed and rolled his eyes as he took quick strides back over to the animal. He hesitantly reached down and lifted the practically weightless form up using only one hand. The moment he brought it in closer to his body, the tiny claws latched onto the wool of his coat and then began the purring.

"Do not bother thanking me," he grumbled as the kitten snuggled as close as he was allowed. "You are absolutely not staying at 221B. I'll see if Mrs. Hudson would like a pet...first thing in the morning when she's up and about."

* * *

Sherlock awoke to the annoyance of sun streaming through his partially opened bedroom drapes, and the feeling of a paw batting at his nose. He immediately remembered the events of the previous night and groaned as the kitten leapt around over his body.

He picked the kitten up, causing an extra squeak, and placed him back on the floor. He had clearly scaled the side of the bed, because he was much too small to have jumped up.

"Obviously you didn't retain the vital details of the serious conversation we had last night about not setting foot in this bed," Sherlock muttered as he got up and threw on a dressing gown.

Sherlock opened the door and the kitten made its way out to the kitchen before he did. He immediately heard John exclaim in surprise.

"Dear Lord, what the- Holmes?! Where did this kitten come from?"

Sherlock made his way into the kitchen as he was being hollered at.

"He found me last night, Watson. There was nothing to do but bring him here. He was persistent," the detective said defensively. "Perhaps Mrs. Hudson would like to keep him."

"Oh, I doubt it."

"Why?"

John chuckled. "Mrs. Hudson just told me last week that she's terribly allergic to cats. In fact, if you're hoping to continue having your afternoon tea made for you, you'd better get him out of here as well."

"Blast it," Sherlock said under his breath. "I was counting on the fact that I could hand him off to her, and now there's nobody else to-"

Sherlock's eyes got wide and his mouth hung open for a moment.

"What?" John asked as he picked the kitten up and snuggled it a bit against his chest.

"I know who can take the cat," Sherlock announced happily, then turned on his heels to head back toward his bedroom. "I'll need to get dressed and leave immediately."

"To bring the cat somewhere?" John called after him.

"Exactly," he called back. "If I don't leave soon, she'll already have gone out."

"She? Who do you mean?"

Sherlock stuck his head out of the bedroom for a moment.

"Doctor Molly Hooper."

* * *

Molly was surprised to hear the rapping at her door at ten in the morning. She certainly wasn't expecting anyone.

"Just a minute!" she called out as she made her way to the door and fussed with the top button on the collar of her blouse.

Molly leaned on the door and peered through the peep hole. She drew back and frowned. Was that Sherlock Holmes?

She swung open the door, smiling brightly. "Mr. Holmes, hello. How did you…know where I live?"

Sherlock let out a short laugh. "What a ridiculous question, Dr. Hooper. We work together! Of course I know where you live." He walked past her and into her flat while finishing his sentence.

"Um…right," she said, mostly to herself, while shutting her door. "So, what can I do for you? Some sort of pressing case?"

"Not exactly. This was just something I didn't think would be appropriate in the setting of Bart's hospital," he said seriously.

Molly's heart skipped a beat, and then promptly began doing double time. That is, until Sherlock pulled his arm out from where it had been tucked inside his coat…and produced a tiny kitten. Her jaw dropped and she immediately took the little kitten which he held out to her.

"Oh my goodness! Look at this little darling! Where ever did you find it?" She had instantly snuggled the animal against her chest and it was happily clinging to her blouse.

"Not it…him. I've deduced that much at least. And I found him further down the alley where the murder took place last night. He was a rubbish witness, but still managed to demand quite a bit of attention." Sherlock cracked a smile at the fact that he was more than correct that this was the right person to bring the cat to.

"He's so tiny! He's a bit scrawny too. Though, he looks healthy other than that. Oh, he's just wonderful!" Molly remembered herself and realized he hadn't actually told her why he'd come here with this kitten. "So um…did you want me to do anything for him?"

"I do," Sherlock stated simply. "I want you to keep him."

Molly's eyes lit up. "You do? Truly? Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes, and yes…to answer all your questions." He smirked and took a few steps around her little sitting room. "I have no use for cats myself and I couldn't pass him off to Mrs. Hudson since she is apparently allergic. You came to mind."

"Did I?" Molly blushed as she nuzzled noses with the kitten and he mewed. "Well I'm glad. I have always wanted a cat; I just never took the trouble to get one. This is the best gift anyone has ever given me."

Sherlock internally bristled at the idea he'd given her some sort of sentimental gift.

"Well, I…it was a matter of practicality. Just, simple…necessity really." He gestured, searching for the right words. "I deduced you would probably want him."

Molly tore her eyes away from gazing at the adorable creature she was holding, and directed her gaze at Sherlock instead. "I do. I think he's absolutely wonderful," she said softly, then smiled. "Thank you for my…non-gift."

Sherlock was unable to stop the next words from pouring out of his mouth as he remembered the way she'd emphasized her solitary personal life the night before. "I also imagine you like the idea of coming home to someone at the end of a long day. And I would venture to say he is unlikely to demand you quit your job at Bart's. Perhaps this companionship is preferable to…other kinds." He had a little comedic twinkle in his eye.

Molly giggled. "You're right. He's perfect," she said, holding him up for a moment and then bringing him back in close. She let out a little gasp, and then grinned. "I'm going to call him Toby!"

Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded. "That seems a fine name. Any particular reason?"

"Well my father was an excellent artist. He used to draw animals for me sometimes, and we'd make up stories about them. I especially loved when he'd draw a tiger, and I always called him Toby. He was a kind and gentle tiger who liked to protect the other smaller animals instead of hunt and eat them."

"Ah," Sherlock said and narrowed his eyes. "A kind, gentle, and also _starving_ tiger then, was he?"

She laughed. "I was five! Anyway, he makes me think of a sweet little tiger." She drew him up close to her face and felt his soft fur on her cheek. "I love him."

Sherlock swallowed hard. He wanted to scoff and berate her for the idea that she could bestow love, the very strongest human emotion, on this little animal who she'd only just been handed a couple of minutes before…but for some reason, the sight before him was one of the most pleasant he'd seen in a long time. And he was sorry to say that it knocked the sarcasm and bitterness right out of him.

That made it a good time to take his leave.

"Well, I suppose my work is done here. Let's keep this between us, shall we? The last think I need is people coming to me with animal cases!" He made his way to the door.

"Mm, understandable." She followed him over and opened the door. "So, will I see you at Bart's later?"

He turned after going through the doorway. "Indeed you will. Enough distributing animals. Back to my real specialty…murder." He grinned.

Molly smiled and bit her lip. "Murder with a side of kittens. I'd say that creates a nice balance."

Sherlock gave her one more smirk, and then turned to descend the stairs.

Molly finally closed the door and went back into the flat with little Toby still clinging to her. She took a seat on her sofa and let the kitten toddle around on her lap and the sofa, exploring and sniffing and occasionally mewing. After a couple minutes she picked him up again and gave his fuzzy head a kiss, speaking to him softly.

"Welcome home, Toby."

* * *

Sherlock got back in the carriage that had brought him to Molly's and directed it to take him home. He sat back against the smooth leather seat and picked a couple cat hairs from off his coat. He was glad to have gotten rid of the animal…but there was something else that inexplicably warmed him.

The idea of Molly Hooper being that happy…just made him smile.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly's breath quickened as Sherlock slowly crossed the room, all the while keeping his eyes locked to hers. He didn't stop till he was toe to toe with her, and that's when he raised his hand to caress her face. Except his fingers only hovered just over her skin, as if he so badly wanted to touch her but was afraid the contact would burn him like a deceptively inviting flame.

She wondered how it was that her eyes had shut and a wave of heat had swept her body when there hadn't even been any actual contact. It took only the electricity between his hand and her face to create this reaction in her, which was almost frightening. She questioned what would happen if he were to really touch her skin.

She was surprised to hear her own voice all of a sudden.

"Mr. Holmes, what are you thinking right now?" she whispered.

He shook his head very slowly before opening his lips to answer. "I am certainly not thinking of the case," he murmured, his mouth drawing closer to hers.

Molly's eyes shut again and she could actually feel the warmth of his breath against her parted lips...

And then she heard the high pitched mewing of a kitten.

Her eyes flew open and she gasped as she sat bolt upright in her bed while clutched her heart. She looked down at Toby who was purring and padding around on her lap clumsily. She puffed out a breath and fell back against her pillow again, still feeling her heart pounding beneath her white cotton nightgown.

Toby sniffed at her face and batted at her hair.

Molly scratched his head gently as she continued staring ahead blankly.

"Dear Lord," she whispered. "Toby, what am I supposed to do?"

More mewing.

"That's the third dream in two weeks. It's becoming more and more difficult to look him in the eye without blushing!" She rubbed her eyes and groaned. "I'm falling fast and I don't know how to stop."

She sat up and lifted the kitten to look him in his fluffy face. "Am I completely pathetic? You understand, don't you? How can I help it when he looks at me with those eyes and talks to me in that deep voice? It's hardly my fault. He's showing absolutely no mercy!"

Toby reached out and batted at her nose, making her smile.

"You're right…I should get up. I'm sure you're hungry. And I should stop wallowing in my silly obsession."

Molly threw on her dressing gown and went to the kitchen to get some food for Toby. She set the little bowl down and chuckled to herself.

"What do you think, little sir? Do you think Mr. Holmes would have given you to me if he knew you'd be subjected to the ramblings of a lovesick school girl?" Her expression fell a bit. "Do you think he even has the slightest idea…that I love him?"

* * *

"I would truly like to meet him." Mary took a sip of her tea and set it down again. "Honestly, I'm not worried about what he'll say to me."

"That's commendable," John said with a chuckle. "You're a brave woman."

"I can handle him, Dr. Watson. I can understand why he may seem…overwhelming to many people, but I think I'm made of tougher stuff. And he is your best friend. That alone makes him worth meeting."

John looked deeply into the eyes of this beautiful woman. He so badly didn't want anything with Mary Morstan to be ruined by the careless comments of the man whose brilliance did not extend to manners and social behavior.

This woman was different though, he knew that. If anyone could stand up to the oddities of Sherlock Holmes, it would likely be her. He also knew that he couldn't protect her from his strange life forever…because he desperately wished for her to be a part of it.

John tentatively reached over and grasped her hand that rested on the little table in the café. "Well then I'd like you to meet him." He smiled. "I think he'd like you, really. And that's saying something. Not that he has to like you in order for us to continue…" John chuckled nervously.

"I understand," Mary said with her own knowing smile. "It's all right to hope that your best friend likes me. I wouldn't want to cause any discord. You live and work together. That is no small thing."

She closed her fingers around his hand and enjoyed the warmth. This was a rare man sitting before her, and she was as happy to have found him as she was terrified to lose him. She knew she _could_ lose him.

"I need to get to the office," she said softly, breaking the spell of their happy little bubble in the café. It had become a routine in the past couple of weeks, and she had grown so fond of their almost daily morning meetings. She also sensed that they were both rapidly beginning to want more. Soon, this would not be enough.

"Busy at the paper these days?" John asked as they rose from the table.

"It's always busy. But that's all right. It makes the hours fly by!"

Mary was a secretary at a local newspaper office. She'd nearly run John over with her bicycle on her way to work the previous month. He hadn't given up trying to contact her ever since that first day.

"And what about Mr. Holmes? Does he have any…female friends?" Mary asked as they walked out to the street.

John laughed. "Oh no, not Sherlock Holmes. He makes it a point to avoid any such entanglements. He certainly seems to turn heads, but he doesn't usually look back and smile. Though, there is…one woman." John shook his head. "I can't be sure though."

"I'm sure the detective himself is just as much a mystery as the crimes he solves." She smiled as she climbed on her bicycle. "Aren't we all mysteries waiting to be solved?"

"Indeed, Miss Morstan." John smiled and stood back so she could move past him. "Same time on Friday morning?"

She nodded happily. "Yes, Dr. Watson…till then." She gave him a warm smile and peddled away, leaving him to miss her already.

* * *

"Dr. Hooper?" Sherlock marched into Bart's morgue and looked around for the esteemed doctor. "I am in need of some assistance!"

Molly came out from the back room, pulling some bloody gloves off.

"Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," she said with a grin. "I was just cleaning up. Anything I can do for you?"

"Indeed there is. You see, I've been working on my escape techniques. I need someone to time me to make sure that my methods are faster than average."

"I see," she said slowly, though she wasn't sure this was completely clear yet. "And what exactly are you escaping from?"

"Just a few of the most common ways of tying ropes," he said casually. "There are some types of knots that are almost impossible to escape from, but I felt it would be a waste of time to practice with those. Unless of course I happen to encounter a sea captain with a passion for crime!" He chuckled at the thought.

Molly smiled, trying to appreciate the humor. "Well I suppose I could time you if you'd like. Do you have any averages you're comparing yourself to?"

"We'll have to get those numbers first." Sherlock pulled out a rope from inside his coat. "We'll time you, and then me."

Molly blinked and looked confused. "I'm sorry…time me? Why would you be timing me?"

"You would be the average, of course," he stated simply as he dragged a chair over from the desk.

"Um, I'm not sure that I would be the best subject for this experiment." She giggled nervously. "Perhaps someone with a bit more experience-"

"No no," Sherlock said, quickly cutting her off. "I'm looking for an _average_ to compare myself to _,_ not a professional escape artist. Therefore, you are the perfect subject. You're more than intelligent, so you'll have no problem learning the general techniques, and your build is small, thus allowing you ample freedom of movement. Considering those facts, you may even be slightly above average."

Molly continued looking dubious. Sherlock stepped aside, allowing her access to the chair he'd positioned and gesturing to it.

"Well," she said quietly, looking from the chair to him. "I suppose I could, if it won't take too long."

"That'll depend on you, won't it, Dr. Hooper?" he said, raising a challenging eyebrow.

She couldn't help laughing as she took a seat while shaking her head. "All right, Mr. Holmes…do your worst."

* * *

A half hour later, Molly was working on getting out of the third knot which restrained her arms behind the chair. She was starting to break a sweat and was getting more and more uncomfortable as she tried to shift around in the seat and achieve the correct angle.

"A bit faster, Dr. Hooper," Sherlock said casually as he leaned on the nearby table and stared at his pocket watch.

"If you'll forgive me, it is a bit- ugh…difficult." Her corset was currently cutting into her side with the way she was twisting.

"You know, you should really take that ridiculous thing off."

Molly's eyes doubled in size and shot over to where he stood. _Good heavens, does he read minds now?_

"P-pardon me?" she stammered. "I do hope you're referring to the rope that I'm working on."

Sherlock made eye contact with her and frowned. "Of course not. I'm referring to your corset."

Molly's face turned beet red and she switched her gaze to the floor as she continued struggling with her hands.

Sherlock laughed at her mortified reaction. "Oh honestly, Dr. Hooper, do not tell me that you haven't considered it yourself! Why should you bother with that unnecessary contraption to begin with, let alone while working a physically demanding job here at Bart's! Considering your size and figure a corset is hardly necessary, even if taking idiotic fashion standards into account. I can practically guarantee that the only person aware of your lacking a corset would be you…and myself of course. I am more observant than most." He took the opportunity to look pleased with himself.

A new blush spread across her cheeks. "I'm not sure it's entirely proper to…" She finally freed one hand. "…discuss this with you, Mr. Holmes."

That earned an eye roll from the detective.

"If you are about to tell me I should restrict my conversation to appropriate topics, I feel compelled to remind you of our current working relationship. Or is it perfectly usual for a gentleman and lady to discuss patterns of stab wounds, the contents of a dead person's stomach, and whether or not someone engaged in a _specific_ _physical activity_ shortly before their demise?"

Molly sighed as she began pulling the rope off her other hand. "I suppose that's a valid point," she conceded quietly. "But in this case, it isn't the subject matter of a dead stranger. And the only person who has the right to say what I should and shouldn't be wearing…is me." He voice had risen slightly and she looked back at him more sternly as she used both free hands to work at the rest of the rope around her torso.

Sherlock pursed his lips as he checked his watch again. "You make a valid point as well, Dr. Hooper. Though I think you've rather proven my point in addition to your own. If you'd rather not wear it…then don't." He gave her a smug smile.

Molly finally stood, pulling the rope over her head and shoving it against his chest while looking into his eyes. There was a moment's pause before Sherlock reached up and took the rope from her, allowing her to remove her hand.

"Thank you for being so considerate," she said quickly and gave him a purposefully sweet smile.

Her tone and proximity produced a change in Sherlock and he suddenly appeared nervous.

"No thanks needed. I simply wouldn't want anything detracting from your…" He looked her up and down for a split second with what seemed to be a critical eye. "…professional abilities."

"Well...that is considerate," Molly insisted, the corner of her mouth tugging upward as she enjoyed seeing him squirm a bit, especially considering how he'd just embarrassed her.

Sherlock cleared his throat and struggled at finding words.

"You can just say 'you're welcome,'" she offered.

"Yes, fine…you're welcome." He looked at her again briefly before moving past her and sitting in the seat. "Shall we get on with it?"

Molly took the rope back when he handed it to her. "Have you recorded my time?"

"I have. I'd say you were just about as fast as I expected. Certainly no faster than I was last week when I was briefly held hostage."

"Were you really? Is that why you're doing this?"

"Mm. Dr. Watson was very nearly shot due to my only moderate escape skills. I can't get by with _moderate_. I'm Sherlock Holmes…I'm no amateur."

"Perish the thought," she said with a smirk.

Molly's small hands worked quickly to restrain Sherlock using the rope and the method he had taught her. When she was finished, she stood back and picked up his pocket watch, instructing him to begin at the start of the next minute.

She bit her lip and tried to hold back from smiling too brightly. It was impressive to see him use such precise skills to free himself as quickly as he did. It would be impressive to anyone, but of course to her it was also rather attractive. Thankfully though, before she knew it, he was standing before her with the rope in hand.

"Time?" he asked, a little breathless.

"Three minutes and about forty five seconds. And it looks like mine was…just under five minutes. I would say that's very nearly perfect," she announced pleasantly.

"Nearly." He shrugged. "Certainly room for improvement, but at least I know I'm at a good starting point. Right…shall we try the next one?"

* * *

It was more than a half hour later when they'd finally finished timing all the restraints Sherlock wanted to try. Molly spent most of the last ten minutes giggling almost uncontrollably. He insisted on trying one method they hadn't used on her. Watching the buttoned up detective struggle on the floor, trying to escape from being hog tied was especially entertaining to watch.

He grumbled as he squirmed around, and he occasionally reprimanded her too.

"Dr. Hooper, this is a serious experiment!" he insisted as he continued looking like a crippled worm on the floor at her feet.

"A-are you sure you don't want me to assist you?" she asked through more laughter.

"I am perfectly…ugh…capable, Dr. Hooper. Focus on the time and kindly stop…ack…distracting me!"

Molly covered her mouth and turned around, trying desperately to stop giggling. It was one of the funniest things she'd ever seen.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and they heard a voice. "Dr. Hooper, why is this door locked?"

Mr. Richard's voice made Sherlock and Molly look at each other with horror. Sherlock gestured with his head to the closet near the wall. Molly nodded and called out to Mr. Richards, "Just a moment, sir! I'm so sorry; I didn't realize I locked it! I'm a bit…tied up at the moment, but I'll be right there!"

Sherlock muffled a giggle against the floor as Molly uttered the words 'tied up.' Thus followed a ridiculous scene of Molly pulling him along the floor with Sherlock scooting as best he could, to get him to the closet. He was haphazardly stuffed into the supply closet and Molly shut the door with some difficulty. She composed herself and finally went to open the door.

She grinned as naturally as she could as she opened the door to her boss. "Afternoon, Mr. Richards. My apologies, I was cleaning up. Do come in," she offered, but prayed he'd refuse.

"Not really necessary. I'm not here for a social call," he said with a note of superiority. "I am simply here to collect the reports you had for me."

"Ah, yes! Let me just get those for you." Molly hurried away and obtained the papers she'd so carefully gotten ready earlier that day and handed them to him. She watched as he looked them over and silently begged him to leave quickly.

"These seem to be in order," he said, almost sounding disappointed. "I'll be in tomorrow and will collect anything new from you then."

"Yes, sir, that'll be just fine." Molly smiled again and tried to remain relaxed so as not to give the impression she was rushing him along.

"Good day, Dr. Hooper," he said with his head pointed back down at the paper as he turned away from the door.

"Yes, good day, Mr. Richards!" She watched him walk painfully slowly down the hall, and when he was finally far enough she closed and locked the door again.

She wasted no time running over to the closet and opening the door. Molly gasped as she was greeted by an unrestrained Sherlock standing right in front of her face. He chuckled as she took a step back, allowing him to exit while clutching her chest.

"Good God, you scared me to death!" She was laughing by this time too. "How did you escape in there?! There's barely any room to move!"

"I have my methods. I suppose this one is only for me to know." He gave her a wink and tugged at his cuffs and jacket sleeves to adjust them back in place. "I take it he's not coming back?"

"Not till tomorrow, but I'd feel a bit better if you left now. I mean, what if he came back right now to tell me something wasn't right with my paperwork? I don't think we should take that chance." She grimaced and wrung her hands at the frightening thought.

"Mm, you're probably right," he agreed. "It seems we're done here anyway. I do appreciate the assistance."

Sherlock slipped his coat back on and took the paper with his recorded times on it. "I believe Inspector Lestrade was coming in tomorrow about that man found in the alley last week. I plan to accompany him, so I suppose I will see you then."

"All right, till tomorrow then." Molly's eyes sparkled a bit when she looked up at him and thought about the prospect of seeing him again the very next day. "Oh and I meant to tell you that Toby has settled in nicely. He's just lovely and I couldn't be happier to have him."

"Excellent," he said with the flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips. "Give him my regards."

Molly grinned again and then he turned and left. She had a hard time wiping that grin off her face for most of the day.

* * *

The next day, Sherlock and John came in with Lestrade to examine what Molly had been analyzing on the dead man's body. They hadn't been there long, and Molly had only just begun talking when Sherlock spared a moment to look more closely at the woman before him who had become so very familiar. Immediately, a knowing smile threatened to bloom.

"Dr. Hooper," he cut in when she had paused for a moment. "You are looking rather…well today."

Molly's eyes darted back and forth for a second as she wondered what brought this on. But then she saw his eyes travel from her face downward to her torso…

 _Ah, of course,_ she thought. She should have known he would notice right away.

"That's um, very kind of you. Thank you, Mr. Holmes. So, as I was saying-"

"Not only looking well," Sherlock persistently went on. "But also looking especially…comfortable."

Molly's face flushed as she pressed her lips together and observed the way Sherlock was grinning like a child who had discovered a secret.

John and Lestrade frowned at each other and it was Lestrade who finally spoke up.

"Holmes, would you mind if we proceed? I don't dispute the fact that Dr. Hooper looks lovely, as always, but I think it would be best if we continue with the examination. I'm sure she's as busy as the three of us are."

"Oh yes, forgive me!" Sherlock said in a mock apologetic tone. "Do go on, Dr. Hooper. Forgive my impromptu…observations."

Molly cleared her throat and smoothed some hair away from her face. "Quite all right, Mr. Holmes. I'll just finish my thought…"

As the three men left ten minutes later, Sherlock hung back and leaned in while passing by Molly.

"An excellent decision, Dr. Hooper. I assume you now see the wisdom of my suggestion regarding the superfluous corset," he said in a hushed tone.

"I do. I'm feeling awfully free now," she whispered back. "In fact, I feel like I could very easily _hog tie you if you ever try to voice your observations about my undergarments again!_ " she threatened through clenched teeth, despite the fact that she was barely holding back laughter as well.

"Dr. Hooper, the day I stop voicing my observations, I will likely be lying on that table over there as the subject of my very own examination," he said with a laugh. "Besides, all I voiced was how well and comfortable you were looking…is complimenting not allowed?" he asked innocently.

"Teasing is not the same as complimenting, Mr. Holmes." She raised a brow and cocked her head in a playful accusatory way.

That hadn't exactly been his intent, and Sherlock suddenly found himself wanting to express that in some way. He conspicuously examined her again with a look in his eyes that made Molly blush anew. And his next words were spoken with shocking sincerity.

"If you say so. Perhaps this would do instead?" He cleared his throat. "Corsets are a torturously restrictive and unnecessary article of clothing that only makes a woman's daily life more difficult than it needs to be. Clearly they weren't designed to allow easy and normal freedom of movement. Their design wasn't with women in mind, but rather for those who would be looking at them. A corset quite literally forces the reality of a woman's body into a completely unrealistic physical ideal. What's overlooked is that there are things which are infinitely more important than how small a woman's waist is."

His expression had become unexpectedly intense and Molly couldn't tear her eyes away.

"You don't need some stupid contraption around your waist in order to make your company worthwhile," he went on. "You, Dr. Molly Hooper, are more than that; more than a _shape_. Your mind, your wit, your work… _you_ are what matters."

She stared at him with lips parted slightly, dumbfounded by the words that had just come out of his mouth. She wasn't able to conjure up any sort of coherent response before he spoke again.

"Would you consider that a compliment?" he asked simply.

Molly licked her lips, swallowed hard, and then attempted to force some sort of reply out. "Well, um…yes. Yes it was, very much so," she answered softly.

"I just thought I should make it clear that I do actually know how to give a compliment…when I really mean it." His eyes connected to hers again as he spoke pointedly.

Molly actually felt a lump developing in her throat, but it was worth the risk to speak again. "Thank you," she whispered.

Sherlock only nodded in response. "I'd better catch up to Watson and Inspector Lestrade." As he walked away toward the door, he added, "Oh, and given your new found _freedom_ , I shall expect nothing but the fastest work here at Bart's. Nothing holding you back now, is there?"

Molly shook her head and chuckled at his little remark as he disappeared through the door.

"Don't worry, Mr. Holmes. Despite the fact that you can give a genuine compliment," she said to herself. "I'm also fully aware that you still know how to tease."


	6. Chapter 6

John shoved his knee into the man's back while restraining his arms, rendering him completely helpless against the hard ground.

"Well done, Watson," Sherlock said through heavy breaths. "I knew we'd catch him."

The man grunted and struggled, but to no avail. "You can't take me in! I ain't done nothing wrong!" he yelled desperately.

"We never claimed you had," Sherlock said as he bent down closer to the man's level. "On the contrary, what we want from you…is information." His tone became immediately chilling.

The man was instantly more terrified. "I-I can't! I won't! I won't tell you nothin!"

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "I very much doubt that is the case, young man. If you spend another hour with me, you'll be begging me to take you to the Yard."

The man's lip quivered and he was obviously in fear for himself, but what he said next was very telling.

"It doesn't matter," he said in a shaky voice. "It doesn't matter what you do to me. I'll never tell you anything. Whatever you do to me is nothing compared to what _he'll_ do if I tell. I won't take that risk. My family won't suffer for me! My wife and baby shouldn't have to suffer!"

Sherlock read the man's eyes carefully with his own. His mouth set tightly as he stood again. This was difficult, no doubt about it. Whoever was controlling crime in London right now had everyone so frightened that they'd never give him away. And from what this man said, it seemed obvious that the threats he made were not directly to his employees, but to those they loved. Much more powerful.

"Should we send for Inspector Lestrade?" Watson asked as he hoisted the man up and began tying his wrists, now that the struggling had stopped.

"Already done. I've sent a message through one of my people." Sherlock paced around the dimly lit street with his hands behind his back. "We may as well let Lestrade take him."

"Perhaps he'll talk in prison," John said, half to Sherlock and half to the still cowering man.

"Unlikely," Sherlock stated flatly. "But perhaps he's better off there than on the streets."

They waited almost a half hour till some officers arrived to take the man in. Sherlock came over and faced the man before he was led away.

"In the future, you should avoid seeking employment from a man who threatens your family. You would have been better off living on the streets and collecting information for me. Perhaps I don't pay as well…but at least you'd be much more likely to live to see your children grow." If anyone else had said it, there would have been compassion in those words. But since it was Sherlock, his tone was cold and unfeeling.

The man was led away and Sherlock sighed, considering the evening's chase to be a bit of a loss. At least in the grand scheme of things.

"Well, at least there's a criminal off the streets," John offered, placing his hands on his lower back and stretching. He wasn't getting any younger, and these chases weren't getting any easier.

"Not what I care about most right now. Information, Watson…I want information." Sherlock walked briskly away in the direction of home, and John hadn't the time to catch his breath before having to quickly follow along.

After a few minutes of silent walking, John cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Holmes, I don't mean to distract, but I'm assuming we're rather done for the night. I had hoped to ask you about another matter."

"There is no such thing as being 'done for the night' when it comes to my mind," Sherlock retorted in a superior tone. "But what was it you were going to ask about?"

"Well, I was hoping you'd consider joining me for dinner some time this week…with Miss Morstan."

Sherlock frowned and gave John a sideways glance as they kept walking. "Why should I join you and Miss Morstan for dinner?"

"Because, Holmes, I'd like you to meet her," he explained, trying to be patient. This would hardly be perplexing to most people. "Things are moving along, and I think it's time you get to know her."

"What have I to do with the whole business?"

John sighed. "You are my best friend, and my flat mate, and my work mate. You are obviously the closest person to me in this city, and I should like to think you'd be interested in getting to know the woman I'm in love with!"

Even Sherlock was inclined to raise his brows in surprise at John's outright proclamation.

"I suppose I could…carve out one evening this week," Sherlock finally agreed.

"Good…thank you. It honestly does mean a lot. And I'd really appreciate it if you try to be just a little nicer than normal. I think you'll like her if you give her a chance. She's an absolute angel," John said, his voice softening.

"Spare me the poetry, Watson! I said I'd meet her, that doesn't mean I'd like to hear you spout off sentimental mush!" Sherlock said firmly, but added a teasing smirk.

After another moment of silence, John spoke again. "Oh and I thought I'd mention that you're welcome to invite a guest as well, if you'd like."

Sherlock looked confused again. "Who would I invite?"

John shrugged, trying to look innocent. "Oh, nobody in particular. I just thought I'd let you know that you could…if you wanted. Even a friend would be welcome! You have friends besides me." He donned a look of revelation and snapped his fingers. "Ah! Like perhaps Dr. Hooper! She's another friend of yours."

Sherlock's perceptive eyes narrowed. "You're awfully clever, Watson. Nicely played…but no."

"Why ever not? I see no reason why you wouldn't want to spend time with her outside the walls of the hospital. You must admit she's practically made for you!" John had quickly abandoned the covert plan.

"That's not what matters to me. I've chosen a career over the pursuit of family. I made that decision long ago, and I've been very happy with it."

"Have you?" John asked cautiously.

Sherlock glared at John again. "What is that supposed to mean? Of course I'm happy. What makes you question that?" he asked, bristling instantly.

"I'm not questioning whether you're happy with your work, of course you are," John clarified. "It's just...perhaps you don't know how much happier still you could be if you had something more… _someone._ It doesn't have to be one or the other. To be honest, I'm rather sure at this point that I'd like to share my life with Miss Morstan. But, that does not mean I don't want to continue working with you. I'll always want to do that as well."

Sherlock stopped walking and turned to face John, making him halt as well. "Yes, but think about it, Watson. How does that change things? What if the future Mrs. Watson was ill? What if your child was ill, or needed you in some way? Would you honestly abandon them in order to work a case? Possibly a dangerous case? What if you were thinking of them while on a case instead of focusing on doing what needs to be done? There are a million ways that a family changes things. The benefits for me would not outweigh the risks."

John nodded, pursing his lips. "Am I to understand that you don't approve then, of my…"

"Oh no," Sherlock said quickly as he began walking again. "Your mind is already so much less focused than my own that it hardly matters if you add in some extra distraction."

"Right, of course," John said with a chuckle. "But your mind can't be compromised?"

"It shouldn't be, no. Think how the city would suffer!" he said with a smug grin. "And that includes Dr. Hooper! Do not think I don't care about her well-being. She is indeed a friend of mine, and I always protect my friends."

"Hm…well, I understand. I will not pretend to agree, mind you! But I understand your especially…strange reasoning. The difference in how we see things is that what you call distraction, I prefer to call _balance._ Never forget the importance of that."

John increased his pace, walking ahead and purposefully ending the conversation there. Perhaps he couldn't hope to convince the stubborn man of anything, but he could at least have the satisfaction of getting the last word in. He'd take what he could get.

* * *

"Dr. Hooper, you do fascinate me so," the man said, eyes gleaming as he dared to reach over to the table and touch his fingers to hers. "I've never had the pleasure of such intellectually stimulating conversation with a delightful lady such as yourself."

Molly blushed a deep pink and tried not to giggle like a child, but it was just terribly thrilling to hear things like this coming out of a gentleman's mouth…directed at her.

"You're far too kind, Professor Morris. And although I wish I didn't have to say this, I'll have to say good afternoon. I've already been a truly awful employee to take you down here and show you around!"

"Well, no harm done! Not as if I'm stealing any body parts!" he said with a laugh. "And I was the one who wanted to see it, so I can take the blame. But, you're right of course. I should be on my way now. Wouldn't want to get you in any trouble now, would I?" He touched a finger to her cheek for just a second.

The blush came back in full force and Molly bit her lip. "Here, um…let me just show you out."

Molly led the man out the door and into the hallway, and she almost jumped as they came face to face with John and Sherlock.

"Oh! Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson…um, this is Professor Morris. He's in town on business and I was just uh…" Molly's nerves got the better of her in more ways than one. She had taken a friend into the hospital morgue, which was already improper. It was certainly worse than letting Sherlock in. And on top of that, there was something uncomfortable about standing here with this man…in front of the consulting detective himself.

"Dr. Hooper was kind enough to show me around. I'm ever so fascinated at the work she does. Such a wonderful example of women's rights, isn't she?" Professor Morris smiled brightly at both of them. "And how much I've heard of you, Mr. Holmes. Rather a legend around the city, aren't you? It's an honor to meet the man behind the name."

Sherlock did nothing but stare the man down with an icy glare. He didn't like him. The moment the words fell out of his mouth, Sherlock did not like him one bit. All he had to do was figure out why...

"We're pleased to meet you as well," John said, quickly shaking the man's hand in an effort to fill the awkward void from Sherlock. "And what sort of professor are you, may I ask?"

"I'm a professor of mathematics, thank you for asking. I'm in town on business. I certainly couldn't pass up an opportunity to visit Bart's hospital while I was here. Fascinating place; so progressive. I'm pleased that I happened upon the lovely Dr. Hooper a few days ago when I stopped by." He grinned pointedly at the still rosy faced woman beside him.

"A few days ago, hm?" Sherlock suddenly joined in the conversation. "And yet here you are…back again," he remarked, still examining the man with a critical eye.

Professor Morris gave Molly another school boy smile and then said to Sherlock and John, "Dr. Hooper and I had just come back from having tea around the corner. I couldn't pass up another chance to see where she does all this clever work of hers." He very briefly touched his hand to Molly's shoulder and John saw Sherlock's eyes double in size.

"Yes, um, thanks again for tea, Professor Morris. It was awfully kind of you to invite me…again," Molly said sweetly to the man, though she kept nervously glancing at Sherlock who seemed disturbingly out of sorts.

"Oh, it was my pleasure, Dr. Hooper."

Sherlock found it odd that when the sticky sweet words came from the man's lips, Professor Morris glanced briefly at him.

"And I'll see you at dinner tomorrow night then?" he said to Molly.

More eye widening from the detective.

"Yes, of course," she answered with a shy grin. "I'll be looking forward to it."

Professor Morris tipped his hat to Sherlock and John. "Pleasure meeting you gentlemen." His eyes twinkled when he spoke, and he seemed pained to tear them away as he turned to go.

But go he did, and soon they were alone with Molly. The three people stood there in silence for a moment. Molly looking embarrassed, John looking nervous, and Sherlock looking surprisingly irate. Finally, Molly spoke as she smoothed a bit of hair back into its place.

"What uh, can I do for you, Mr. Holmes? You must have stopped by for-"

Sherlock cut her off unexpectedly. "Please don't tell me that an intelligent woman like yourself is wasting her time with a man like that," he stated flatly.

Molly's eyes widened and her face fell. "P-pardon me?"

"Holmes!" John hissed at him through clenched teeth.

"Oh please!" Sherlock laughed, looking back and forth between John and Molly. "Tell me I'm not the only one who could see that he's not honestly interested in you!"

"What?" she breathed out, her voice already shaking. "H-how could you say that? We…we've had tea together…twice. He asked me to dine with him tomorrow."

"Mm, awfully motivated to spend time with you isn't he?" Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Yes, Holmes, because he enjoys her company!" John attempted to cut off his friend again, but it didn't work.

"Obviously not! He's far too interested in the hospital…in her work! Did anybody else notice that he carries a small notebook in his pocket? Anybody want to take a guess as to why he should be so immediately taken with Dr. Hooper here?"

The man and woman in front of him could only stare back in horror.

"No? Nobody? Right, well I'll do it then. What are the chances that he is a reporter in search of a juicy story? He probably wants to talk about the hospital all the time with you, and wants to hear about the work you do with Scotland Yard! And he somehow knew all about me as well, despite the fact that he's not from here, and only in London on business! Tell me, Dr. Hooper, did you offer to take him to the morgue? Or did he blatantly request it?" Sherlock's eyes bored into hers, and he was too busy reveling in the belief that he was right to realize that he didn't look anything like a caring friend. He just looked menacing.

Molly hated him in that moment. She had never really been able to say she hated him before, but she felt sure that she did right then. She could have slapped him across the face if she'd let herself. Perhaps she would have if they hadn't been in the hospital.

"He told me he wanted to see it," she admitted angrily. "He's interested in my work, yes. But I think that's lovely! There is nothing wrong with that! Why must you spoil-" She stopped herself short and pressed her lips together, feeling the tears burning and threatening behind her eyes.

"Honestly, Dr. Hooper," he scoffed. "I thought we had agreed that Toby was an acceptable substitute for foolish men!"

Molly's jaw dropped.

"Holmes!" John reprimanded again, louder this time.

Molly clenched her jaw and looked up at him with a fire of hurt and anger burning in her big brown eyes. "I'll say good afternoon, gentlemen," she said in a curt tone, and turned to go back into the morgue.

"Oh and incidentally, I was stopping by to- " Sherlock began, but was quickly silenced.

"I hardly care why you were stopping by today, Mr. Holmes. You'll simply have to return another time." Her words left no question as to how she was feeling.

"Yes, but when?" Sherlock questioned, beginning to look helpless.

"Perhaps when you have someone reputable with you, like Inspector Lestrade. Or better yet... _when you've learned some manners!"_ she growled, and then instantly went through the door. They heard her lock it as loudly as a lock could be secured.

John glared at Sherlock as the echo of the door slamming subsided. "You must be joking. Did you really just speak to her like that? How could you say those things about that man?"

"Why would she want to spend her leisure time with a man who is not genuinely interested in her? Am I not supposed to inform her of that fact?!"

"First of all, no you should not. Not like that! And second, are you absolutely sure that you have reason to believe that man is unworthy of her attention, or would you just like that to be true?"

Sherlock grimaced in confusion. "What are you talking about? Why would I like that?"

John raised his eye brows and tilted his head, trying to indicate that Sherlock should be able to figure this one out.

"Oh, enough of that!" Sherlock huffed and walked along faster. "That is not the reason I disliked him! I deduced he wasn't genuinely interested in her, and _that is all!_ "

"I am far from convinced, Holmes. I saw nothing disturbing about Professor Morris, and she seems rather happy in his company. If you care for her as a friend, then perhaps you would do well to remember your place as such." John gave him a pointed look before marching off.

Sherlock grumbled to himself. "I didn't even get any body parts!"

* * *

The door to 221B slammed against the wall as Sherlock strode inside unexpectedly.

"My God! Holmes, what happened to you? Where have you been?" John's eyes were like saucers and he almost forgot about the fact that his frustrating flat mate's entrance had caused him to spill tea on the front of his dressing gown.

Mostly, John was focused on the fact that Sherlock's lip and possibly mouth was bleeding, there was more blood on the front of his shirt, his eye seemed swollen, and he looked like he'd been rolled in dirt.

"I procured some valuable information on the whereabouts of our elusive criminal mastermind," Sherlock said calmly as he closed the door and made his way into the kitchen. "I do hope you aren't too disappointed that I didn't bring you along."

John had followed him into the kitchen as he spoke. "I think I'll get over the loss rather quickly. Though it looks like you could have used another pair of hands. I mean, how many of them were there? And I can't even believe you beat it out of anyone. They all seem far too afraid and threatened to open their mouths!"

Sherlock frowned as he yanked his shirt sleeves up and pulled his cravat off. "Oh, you mean this?" he asked, pointing to his lip, and then he laughed. "No no, Watson. I got the information by drinking with a man till it loosened his lips. _This_ was just a bit of a boxing match. Seemed a shame to pass up. It was right there at the pub after all."

John shook his head and sighed. "I cannot imagine how you enjoy getting that head of yours knocked around! I would think you value your precious brain far too much."

"Getting _my_ brain knocked around?" Sherlock chuckled happily again. "Oh, Watson…you should have seen the other gentleman!"

"Right…well anyway, what did you learn about this mystery man?"

Sherlock dipped a cloth in some water and ran it over the back of his neck. "The man wasn't completely forthcoming, despite being rather intoxicated. But although he didn't give me an identity or description, he gave me a location!"

"You mean, where the man lives?"

"Much more fun! More of a challenge," Sherlock said excitedly. "We now know where he's going to be tomorrow evening. He will be dining at Claridge's at seven o'clock. Apparently though, he will be hard at work. He's reserved a table by a window and plans to meet an important guest. Must be some sort of business meeting."

"All right, well that's something. I'm sure there's more than one table by the window though. How are we to know who he is?" John got another cloth and began to dab at the tea stain on his dressing gown.

"That's the fun, Watson!" Sherlock clapped his hands together after tossing the soggy rag onto the table. "That is where deduction comes in. This will be a welcome distraction!"

As Sherlock marched off towards his bedroom, John frowned to himself.

"A welcome distraction from what, exactly?"

Sherlock completely ignored his friend's question, but did whirl around before disappearing through the door. "Oh and Watson, you should inform Miss Morstan that the dinner is on for tomorrow evening at seven o'clock."

"Hold on…what? I thought we were going to Claridge's then?"

"We are." Sherlock's face indicated that he failed to understand the confusion. "And this is what we'll do while we're there."

"No…no!" John pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking again. "Holmes, that is not the purpose of our dinner with Miss Morstan! I wanted the three of us to dine together in order for her to _get to know you_ a bit! Not to track down the identity of a ruthless _criminal!_ Why must we combine these completely unrelated activities?!"

"Oh, relax, Watson! I may not even take any action tomorrow evening. All I'd like to do is get the chance to identify him. That alone is worth its weight in gold! The three of us can enjoy a lovely meal…well, you two can…all while I simply _observe._ " He grinned.

John groaned and leaned on the table while shaking his head. "I cannot believe I actually thought we could have a normal dinner…I really should have known better!"

"And besides," Sherlock added with a twinkle in his eyes. "If you'd like for Miss Morstan to get to know me…what better way than this?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Good evening gentlemen," the host said with a smile as Sherlock and John entered the dining room of Claridge's. "Two for dinner?"

"Three for dinner, please," John politely corrected as Sherlock immediately began to scan the dining room.

"Very good, sir. Shall I take you to your table now, or would you like to wait for the third party?"

"Well, perhaps we should wait for-"

"John!" Mary approached behind him making him turn and grin.

"Oh good, we were just about to be seated." John reached out and gave her hand a little squeeze. "Uh, Holmes, this is Miss Mary Morstan…and this is Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock gave the smiling blonde a little nod and half smile as he briefly shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Morstan. I've heard your name often enough for some weeks now. Time to add a face to the name I suppose!"

"It's quite the pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Holmes. I am sure I hear of you more often than you hear of me," she said warmly.

"Ooh, you'd be surprised." Sherlock chuckled.

"All right, well that's enough conversation for just now," John said with a nervous laugh. "We can always continue after being seated."

"Right this way, gentlemen and madam," the host said.

"We will need to be seated at that table over there," Sherlock interjected. It was behind a couple large pillars, so they wouldn't be in very plain sight. But it also afforded an excellent view of the few tables that were by the window.

"Oh…I see," the man said with a slight frown. "Certainly, sir. That is no problem at all."

Some lovely music played and the evening lights in the room glittered. John realized this would probably have been a spectacularly romantic evening…had Sherlock and his interesting plans not been included.

The host pulled out a chair and Mary began to sit, but Sherlock spoke up again.

"Forgive me, Miss Morstan, but I'll be needing that seat."

All three looked at him in confusion.

"Holmes, you can sit anywhere. There's really no need to make a scene," John said under his breath.

"No, I really can't sit just _anywhere,_ Watson. I need to have a clear view of that section of the room." Sherlock gestured to the windows.

"Holmes!" John hissed again.

"John, it's fine," Mary said with a smile as she moved to another chair. "I don't mind at all, Mr. Holmes. Please, take this seat."

Sherlock cleared his throat as he sat. "Very much appreciated, Miss Morstan. This will make the evening go much more smoothly," he said, giving her a smile.

The host wished them an enjoyable meal and had walked away from the table wondering what sort of strange dinner party this was.

"John tells me that you often work with the Yard. That must be rather thrilling! I do hope I didn't interfere with anything important tonight for you two. Surely you don't always keep normal business hours." Mary had to hold in a giggle as she observed the way Sherlock was surveying the room instead of looking at her.

"Indeed we do not," Sherlock said, finally turning his attention back to her. "Not to worry though, Miss Morstan. You haven't interfered with anything. In fact, we are figuratively killing two birds with one stone this evening." He grinned while raising a wine glass to his lips.

"Oh God," John said to himself and shook his head. Then he said to his friend, "Holmes, I didn't think we would make this an actual topic of discussion tonight. That is not the main focus of this dinner. Perhaps you should just observe what's needed and we can always go over it at a later time."

"Go over what at a later time?" Mary asked. She lowered her voice to an excited whisper. "Is it a case?"

Sherlock observed the way her bright blue eyes had lit up at the possibility, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. _Oh, Watson, it seems you are outnumbered this evening,_ he thought happily. For perhaps the first time, he felt ready to approve of his friend's taste in women.

"Well, Miss Morstan, yes it is a case. I chose the time and location of our dinner this evening for a very particular reason. I have reason to believe that a very dangerous criminal will be dining here this evening at a seat by the window, with an important guest. He is a man that has proven very difficult to track down, but his power in this city has become a serious problem of late. He seems to wield the authority of at least a dozen men, and perhaps has the intellect of that many as well…and we do not even know his name."

Mary raised her brows. "He sounds like quite the enemy to have. All that power and yet nobody knows him. Anonymity is terribly dangerous. It means no accountability."

"Indeed," Sherlock agreed. "He is quite the challenge."

"So, Holmes, perhaps you'd like to ask Miss Morstan about her work at the newspaper," John offered, still hoping to have a night of normal dinner conversation.

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

Mary concealed a laugh behind her napkin while John sighed in exasperation.

Sherlock took into account the people at the occupied tables by the window. _There was an elderly couple, a man and his…mother who he lives with but she resents him for it, and then a man sitting alone. Hmm._

"Watson," Sherlock gestured covertly over. "That must be him, sitting alone. Perhaps his guest hasn't arrived yet. There's nobody else it could be. A shame he's facing the other way though."

"Perhaps he'll turn when his guest arrives."

"Perhaps. Not to say that I am guaranteed to recognize him, but I would like to at least commit his face to memory now. And I suppose there's also the chance I'd recognize his guest."

They were all momentarily distracted when the waiter came to give them their options and his personal recommendations. The three of them ordered, though Sherlock knew he would be unlikely to eat much of his food. Finally the waiter, who had been blocking Sherlock's view to the windows, walked away and Sherlock was able to see the table again.

The moment he looked over again, his eyes doubled in size. He looked away and swallowed hard before looking back again, hoping that what he's just seen wasn't real.

But it definitely was.

"Watson," Sherlock said, grabbing his friend's arm. "Look…"

John leaned over and soon his expression became one of horror as well. He looked at Sherlock again. "Dear Lord, that's Dr. Hooper!"

"Yes, it is," Sherlock answered gravely.

"Dr. Hooper? Who is Dr. Hooper?" Mary questioned, wishing she had a clear view now.

"She is a doctor at Bart's hospital, specializing in the subject of pathology. She works closely with Scotland Yard…and with me." Sherlock was now only carefully glancing at the table, trying not to let Molly see him. He hadn't worked everything out quite yet, but he knew that if she saw him first, this could go badly.

"A female doctor at Bart's?" Mary asked with admiration. "How marvelous. I should very much like to meet this woman!"

"I'm sure you would. Let's try to keep her alive, shall we?" Sherlock said, taking a swig of wine.

"She did say that Professor Morris was taking her to dinner tonight, didn't she? So… _that's him?_ " John asked, still in shock.

"It would seem so. Upon a bit of further inspection I would say that looks like the man we met, from what I can see at least. So now…we just have to take some sort of action," Sherlock said with wheels almost visibly turning in his brain.

"Take action?" John looked more than a little concerned. "Holmes, I don't think there's anything you can reasonably do…right here and now. Besides, you said you just wanted to find out his identity tonight! You've done that, have you not?" The poor man still entertained hopes of a normal dinner out.

Sherlock frowned at John. "Watson, Dr. Hooper is currently dining with a dangerous _murderous_ criminal who I was correct in assuming was not genuinely interested in her! He is using her and she has absolutely no idea. Do you really expect me to sit here and do absolutely nothing about it?"

"John, he can't do nothing!" Mary added, wearing a similar expression to Sherlock's. "Think of Dr. Hooper!"

John sighed. "Right, of course. So…what are you planning?"

"Thinking," Sherlock said with narrowed eyes.

John smiled apologetically at Mary. "Sorry about all this. I had hoped this wouldn't happen."

Mary reached over and took John's hand under the table. "I don't mind, truly. I think it's all just marvelous to be honest." She leaned a little closer and whispered. "I told you I could handle him."

John smiled back at her. "I know. Silly me for worrying."

"I've got it," Sherlock announced suddenly. He grabbed the waiter who happened to be passing by. "Is Mr. Claridge in tonight?"

"Yes sir…is there a problem?" the young man asked, looking nervous.

"Not at all. But if you could tell him that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is here and asking to see him, it would be greatly appreciated." Sherlock plastered on a genuine smile.

"Right away, sir."

"What are you going to do?" John asked as the man hurried off.

"Nothing to cause much of a scene, if that's what's worrying you."

John didn't look comforted.

A couple of minutes later, a jovial looking man approached the table. "Mr. Holmes! It's been so long! Good to see you!" He shook Sherlock and John's hand and was quickly introduced to Mary.

"Mr. Claridge, I have a rather strange favor to ask of you this evening. But I need you to trust me that you would be aiding in a very important case. Can we count on you for your cooperation and discretion?" Sherlock asked in a low tone.

Mr. Claridge clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. "My boy, anything for you. You got me out of quite a bind last year, and I am all too glad to repay the favor. In fact I am sorry you hadn't told me sooner that you would be dining tonight!"

"I knew we could count on you," Sherlock said, laying on the flattery. "Now, do you see the table over there by the window with the man and woman?"

"Ah yes, that was the table reserved for a Professor Morris I believe," Mr. Claridge said thoughtfully.

Sherlock nodded. "I need you to have the waiter do something important for me. Instruct the man to _accidentally_ spill something on the lady in Professor Morris' company."

Mr. Claridge raised his brows in surprise and concern at this request, but Sherlock was quick to clarify.

"What he spills should be nothing that would irreparably damage either the lady or her clothing. Nothing hot, or likely to permanently stain. Just something that begs for a bit of…cleaning up." Sherlock smirked, pleased with his plan.

"I see," Mr. Claridge said, mulling this over.

"I naturally understand you would be concerned about creating a scene," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "But rest assured that the lady is not the type to do so and the gentleman would be unlikely to want undue attention drawn to himself either. My only purpose is to temporarily remove the lady from his company while she gets cleaned up. I can take it from there…what do you say?"

Mr. Claridge seemed to take this all seriously, and finally he nodded. "You can count on me, Mr. Holmes. I shall do my part, and leave the rest to you." He shook Sherlock's hand again. "Glad to be of service to a good man like you."

The owner walked off and Sherlock looked at John and Mary with a self-satisfied expression. "Sometimes my greatest weapon is the people I know."

Sherlock tried to keep a watchful eye on Molly for the next few minutes, waiting to see her get up. Unfortunately, every time he hazarded a glance, all he saw was her smiling and blushing like a school girl.

But thankfully, just as their food was arriving, Sherlock heard a small clattering sound. When he turned, the waiter was obviously apologizing profusely as Molly was trying to mop at her lap with the little napkin. He saw the waiter pick up what was left of a small bowl of fruit from the floor.

"Come on, get up," Sherlock whispered to himself as he watched out of the corner of his eye. And then…she did.

Molly walked away from the table and down a hallway that she was directed to. Sherlock turned away carefully, in case she glanced their way.

"Did she get up?" Mary asked.

"She did. I'll follow her in a minute. Just wait for me, don't do anything else," Sherlock instructed.

"I'll move to your seat so I can watch. If he gets up to go look for her, I'll come to the powder room and warn you," Mary volunteered.

Sherlock nodded. He hadn't even thought of that, but it was a good back up plan to have in place. This Mary Morstan was looking to be a better fit for John by the minute.

Sherlock took a deep breath and got up, quickly heading down the hallway and out of the view of the dining room full of guests. Once there, he walked further down till he came to the door that said, "Ladies Powder Room." He glanced around, making sure there was no one else about and then leaned closer against the door, listening to make sure that Molly was the only one inside. He heard the squeak of a tap being turned on, and only the motion of one pair of feet…all clear.

Like lightening, he opened the door, swept inside, and bolted it behind him. And naturally, as he did, Molly let out a rather loud gasp.

"Mr. Holmes! What are you doing in here?!" She looked more than a little horrified.

"Forgive me, Dr. Hooper, but I absolutely had to speak with you. It was rather urgent," he said, taking a few steps to where she stood frozen in the midst of wiping at her skirt.

Her expression hardened after the shock of his appearing had worn off. "I cannot imagine what you would need to speak with me so urgently about, Mr. Holmes." She went back to wiping at the fabric, much more aggressively now. "I'm sure you can see that I am dining with Professor Morris, and I'm not available for whatever you think you need me for at the moment!"

"I didn't say I needed you for anything, Dr. Hooper. In fact, I am also busy dining here tonight. I am here with Watson and a lady friend of his. But while I was here, I made a disturbing discovery…involving your dinner companion."

Molly huffed and shook her head. "I feel I have heard quiet enough of your opinions on Professor Morris. I think you made your feelings perfectly clear yesterday."

"If you'll hear me out, Dr. Hooper," he said more firmly. "I think you'll find this to be new and vital information. The fact is that I was not completely correct in my deductions yesterday."

"Astonishing!" she said sarcastically.

"I think I should tell you why I cared so much to be here tonight. I was informed that the man heading the current wave of crime in London would be dining here tonight at seven…at a table by the window…with an important guest," he said slowly and pointedly.

Molly's expression fell a little and she stopped what she was doing to make eye contact with him. She blinked, eyes darting around as she processed what he was saying.

"But…but there are…other tables," she countered weakly.

"Yes," Sherlock admitted. "But neither of the other occupied tables by a window are at all possibilities. I wouldn't have bothered to orchestrate your needing to leave the table or track you down in the powder room if I weren't very sure."

Molly frowned. "Orchestrate my- oh it doesn't matter." She set the cloth down on the edge of the sink and sat down heavily on the little settee nearby. She said nothing; just sat there gripping the fabric beneath her hands and staring in front of her.

"You needed to know who you're dealing with," Sherlock said calmly. "His interest is in Scotland Yard, and in me. Any information you share with him on those subjects could be very dangerous…to all of us. I would strongly advise you to discourage his further interest in you. Do whatever you have to do to make sure he leaves you alone."

Molly nodded very slightly but didn't look up and didn't say anything.

"Dr. Hooper, are you sure you understand?" he pressed.

"Mmhm," she said, nodding more vigorously. "I do, I understand."

Sherlock stared at her, wondering what to do next. Really, he'd done what he needed to do. She knew what she needed to know. And yet…

"Are you…all right?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'll be fine, thank you. I just…feel like a bit of a fool right now. I mean, you told me to stick with Toby, didn't you?" She laughed, but it was shaky. "I probably should have been smart and done just that."

It wasn't often Sherlock felt this way, but at the moment, be hated being right. It wasn't as cut and dried as she was making it sound though, and he knew it.

"He was just using you. It's not the same thing as…" Sherlock wasn't sure where he was going.

"I know," she said, jumping in. "He was just using me and I bought into it, without hesitation. I didn't think myself to be so pathetic and desperate! I believed him simply because I wanted him to be real. I wanted to believe that a gentleman could admire my life and my work…and me."

Sherlock felt like a heavy weight was pressing on his chest, trying to shove something out. "I admire you," he said quietly.

Molly's eyes snapped up to his, and suddenly he felt a little lost.

"I-I mean to say that your life and work…you are impressive. Most women don't do what you have done. They likely could, but given the world we live in it would mean sacrifice. And you've done that. That deserves a fair bit of admiration."

She smiled, but there was still some sadness present in her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. It does mean a great deal to hear you say that, honestly. It's just…it's not the same as what I was speaking of. You see, I thought that Professor Morris was taken with more than just my professional abilities," she said shyly.

 _Ah,_ Sherlock thought, understanding her meaning. She wanted what everyone else seemed to want so badly…to be desired. He scoffed a little in his head. What did she really have to worry about anyway? In a split second, Sherlock examined her completely. Her tiny little figure, slight but strong, was clothed in a deep chocolate brown skirt which belted at the waist and a blouse that was obviously a nicer piece of clothing for her. It was simple and white, but had some lace around the collar and on the sleeves which came down just below her elbows. Her hair was swept up, but not as tightly as it often was as Bart's. It framed her face in a softer way, with some tendrils that had been strategically left out. Her brown eyes were as big and dark as ever, and her nose tipped up ever so slightly in that way that made her profile so unique hers. It was so familiar now, from all the times he'd stood there watching while she worked…

Sherlock felt his breath catch for a moment. He had taken an overall estimation of her appearance because she had just bemoaned the fact that she didn't believe herself to be desirable. It seemed the logical thing to do. Gather data and come to an informed conclusion. But he hadn't really thought about the honest answer it would produce in himself…she was beautiful. But not just in a clinical sense.

She was beautiful _to him._

It was the first time that Sherlock admitted to himself that he was physically attracted to Molly Hooper. Not just that he was impressed by her intellect, or her medical knowledge, or the accomplishment of being an employee of Bart's hospital. No…he simply enjoyed the sight of her.

Naturally, this realization flustered him.

"I uh…I hardly think you should concern yourself with whether or not a dangerous criminal finds you appealing." He locked his hands behind his back and averted his gaze.

Molly sighed. "You're right of course. And I don't concern myself with that I suppose. Ultimately…" She kept her eyes down, but her words were still very much directed at him. "It isn't really _his_ opinion that matters to me."

Sherlock glanced back at her and swallowed hard. _What is she saying?_ He felt the need to bring this conversation to a close. He cleared his throat and dove in.

"My opinion would likely also matter very little, but in my estimation you are perfectly adequate to look at," he said quickly.

Molly chuckled at the lightweight compliment that still managed to make her smile. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. But um, your opinion does matter." She looked up at him. "More than a little."

He couldn't look away for a moment. He wondered if perhaps he should say something; tell her off, warn her away…something. How had he really never seen this in her eyes before?

"Dr. Hooper, I uh…"

They jumped when there was a knock at the powder room door. Sherlock motioned to Molly to respond.

"Um, forgive me, I'll be just a moment," she called out.

"Mr. Holmes, it's Miss Morstan."

Sherlock rushed to the door, unlocked it, and let her in. He locked the door again once she was inside.

"I thought I should come and tell you that the man you're with just got up and is asking one of the waiters if they saw where you went."

Molly looked a bit confused. "Oh, why thank you. But um…who are you?"

"Ah yes!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Dr. Molly Hooper, this is Miss Mary Morstan, a friend of Dr. Watson's. Miss Morstan, Dr. Hooper." He gestured between them while making the rapid introductions.

"Oh, hello!" Molly's face spread in a smile immediately. "It's such a pleasure to meet you!"

"You as well," Mary said warmly, taking the handshake Molly offered. "I heard about you and I knew you were just the sort of woman I would love to meet. We absolutely must talk more soon!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "This is hardly the time for conversation or planning our social calendars. Perhaps we should move things along?"

"Indeed, Mr. Holmes," Mary teased. "Which is why I came to tell you to stop chatting away in here!"

Sherlock sighed and went for the door, but Mary stopped him.

"Wait! Dr. Hooper, you should make your exit first. Mr. Holmes and I will wait a couple of minutes before going back to our table."

Sherlock looked a little sheepish. "Yes, she's right. Go on, and remember what I told you. End the interest! Get word to me as soon as possible if you feel that things are not going to plan."

Molly nodded. "Yes, I will. I'll make sure. Sorry again that I didn't see…" she began, but Sherlock stopped her.

"Let us not forget, Dr. Hooper…I thought he was a reporter." He quirked his eyebrow and gave her a little smile.

She grinned, appreciating the fact that he wasn't making her feel like a complete fool for all of this. "Thank you," she whispered, and gave Mary one more smile as well.

She disappeared through the door and Sherlock slowly turned to look at a smiling Mary.

"Well…she is just lovely," Mary said in a congratulatory tone.

Sherlock frowned. "Why are you saying it like that?" he asked suspiciously.

Mary smiled slyly. "Mr. Holmes, I know we are only just starting to get to know one another so I think it's only fair to warn you that there's one thing you should always remember about me." She leaned in a little closer and said in a low voice, "I'm very perceptive."

Mary stepped away and sat on the settee to wait till they could safely leave the powder room, leaving Sherlock looking a little like a child caught stealing candy. He couldn't decide whether he was in awe…or a little frightened.

A few minutes later, Sherlock left the powder room, followed by Mary another couple of minutes later. He was impressed when he walked back into the dining room and Molly didn't so much as glance in his direction. She was obviously taking this seriously. _As she should,_ he thought grimly.

A few minutes into their meal though, Sherlock excused himself again and slipped out the front door. He went just around the corner to the side of the restaurant, looking for someone in particular who he knew would be there.

"An emergency already, Mr. Holmes?" Bill Wiggins voice broke through the shadows.

"Not exactly…not yet at least," he answered in a calm voice. "But I do need you to do something important for me."

"Anything, Mr. Holmes."

He walked Wiggins back around to the front of the building and pointed into the window. "Do you see Dr. Hooper sitting there at that table?" he asked, eyes glued to the candle-lit scene before him.

"That I do, Mr. Holmes," Wiggins confirmed.

"Excellent. What I'd like for you and the rest of your people to do is to ensure that Dr. Hooper returns safely to her flat tonight after she leaves this restaurant."

"I can do that," he said confidently.

Sherlock finally turned away from the window and faced Wiggins with a stern expression as he shoved some coins into his hand.

"Ensure that she returns safely to her flat… _alone._ "


	8. Chapter 8

"Right this way, Mr. Holmes. Your brother is ready to see you now," Anthea said with a little smile as she led him to the door. "He regrets having kept you waiting, but he has been dreadfully busy."

"Business as usual then," Sherlock said, giving her a little nod of thanks before going into his brother's office.

Sherlock stepped in and saw Mycroft still scribbling away at his desk. At length, the elder Holmes looked up with a sigh and set his pen down.

"I've done what you asked, Sherlock. And as you suspected it seems there is no such man as Professor James Morris." He got up and walked around the desk to hand Sherlock a sketch. "There is however, a Professor James _Moriarty_ who had recently left Ireland and come to London for a visit. I take it this is the gentleman you met and then saw in the restaurant."

Sherlock nodded slowly as he examined the sketch. "This is him, yes."

"Apparently he is much better known in his home country. He was able to go unnoticed here for too long." Mycroft stuck his hands in his pockets. "I am far from pleased that his presence was not clear to me long ago."

Sherlock continued staring at the picture, feeling a chill go through him. "I'd like to get rid of him," he said quietly.

"As would I, brother mine. It will have to be done carefully of course." He frowned. "Explain to me again why you let him slip between your fingers last week?"

Sherlock set the sketch down and swallowed hard. "I thought it best not to make my presence or involvement known that evening. If I had done so, I believe it would have alerted him to my connection to Dr. Hooper."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "To what connection are you referring?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Our _working_ relationship, naturally."

The elder brother nodded thoughtfully before continuing. "And you are still sure you can trust her completely? How do you know she was truly deceived?"

Sherlock's eyes burned brighter in an instant. "I'm more than certain of that, Mycroft. And if you're wise, you will trust her as I do."

Mycroft smirked. "I think I see."

"I'm being very serious, Mycroft. I would trust that woman with my very life." Sherlock stared his brother down, willing him to see the truth of his words.

Mycroft raised his hands in surrender. "I was simply asking. And she has definitely terminated the connection now then?"

Sherlock nodded. "I haven't seen her since, but she sent me a brief message a couple of days ago through my…associate Wiggins. It stated that she did not believe he would be contacting her again and that she believed she had discouraged his interest. Again…I trust her."

Mycroft pressed his fingers to his lips briefly as he considered this. Just then, Anthea came in with a tea cup.

"Sherlock," Mycroft went on. "I do think you should remember to maintain a _professional_ working relationship. Keep in mind that certain other emotions can…cloud judgement," he said in a superior tone.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and regarded his brother in irritation. He watched carefully though, as his brother's assistant walked over next to him and leaned over to carefully set down the tea cup. She gave him a little smile while doing so.

"Morning tea, sir…just how you like it," she said softly. "Will there be anything else?"

A grin spread on Sherlock's face. "You are certainly the expert, brother, are you not?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. "That uh- that will be all, Anthea…thank you."

The young woman made her way out of the room as quickly as she'd come in and the two brothers were left to glare at each other.

"You were saying _,_ " Sherlock said with a smug chuckle. "Any pointers to offer on being _professional?"_

Mycroft sighed loudly. "I think that's quite enough of your snide remarks. I do have actual work to get on with! And perhaps you have one of your little mysteries to solve," he said with a flippant wave of his hand as he got up.

Sherlock took the hint and rose from his seat as well. He strode over to the door. "You will keep me informed?" he asked, standing in the opened door.

"You will be informed about whatever is pertinent to you, yes." Mycroft raised a judgmental brow. "Do try to keep your _acquaintances_ out of trouble, won't you?"

Sherlock gave him a withering look and made his exit. As he left, he couldn't help but think that he probably trusted Molly more than his own brother at this exact moment.

* * *

Molly left the hospital that evening and took a walk down the street to her favorite cafe. She deserved a nice coffee and pastry of some kind. It hadn't been easy the past week or so. Not only had she encountered a sort of failed relationship, but it was also the sort that haunts you…literally. She had been in danger, and hadn't even realized it. She felt sure it was over, but that didn't really comfort her completely. The whole affair still plagued her.

It was also especially troublesome that she hadn't seen Sherlock much in this past week. She knew he was likely occupied with searching for the man in question, but still…she couldn't help wondering what he thought of her. He'd surprisingly kindly reassured her on that night at the restaurant, but she still had nagging doubts about whether he now thought her to be a silly woman. She had gotten the distinct impression that he respected her for the fact that she put her career above pursuit of a marriage and family. Had she ruined his perception of her now? Did he no longer see her as a kindred spirit?

She was torn, because on the one hand she wished for him to consider her to be…on his level. But at the same time, she didn't want to hide certain things from him and mask the truth. On some level, she wanted him to know just how badly she wanted certain things.

Because she wanted them with him.

"Here you go, miss," the lady behind the counter said with a smile as she slid the coffee and shortbread to her.

Molly came out of her fog and paid the woman and then made her way over to one of the small tables, letting out a sigh as she did. It wasn't a minute or two into her casual coffee sipping that she noticed a woman enthusiastically waving to her from outside the window. Despite the connection to recent unpleasant events, Molly's face lit up when she recognized Mary Morstan.

Mary came into the café and Molly stood up to greet her.

"Dr. Hooper, I'm so pleased to have spotted you!"

"I'm glad as well!" Molly said. "Please, will you join me?"

"Oh, thank you! I suppose I could have a rest for just a few minutes," she said with a grin while removing her bonnet and taking a seat at the little table. "You're awfully kind to let me intrude on your personal time, Dr. Hooper."

"Oh, not at all!" Molly assured her. "And please, call me Molly. I am of course very proud of my professional title, but sometimes I confess I miss being just…me."

"I completely understand. And you may call me Mary of course."

A woman came over and took Mary's order for coffee.

"Tell me, Molly, how long have you worked at the hospital?"

"Let me see." Molly pursed her lips. "Well it is coming close to a year now. It's certainly a bit of a dream come true. I never imagined I'd be a doctor and get to work at Bart's hospital."

Mary shook her head. "Quite an impressive accomplishment! I like a woman who takes control of her own life. I knew we would get on nicely from the moment I heard of you…and I do hope everything worked out all right the other night," she said with sudden concern as she touched Molly's hand on the table.

"Oh yes," Molly said with a little chuckle. "Silly me! I suppose I should learn to be more careful about who I spend my time with."

"It seems to me you were not at fault. The man is a devious criminal! You are hardly to blame by being taken in. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson didn't realize the truth at first either! And I could plainly see that neither of them held you responsible."

Molly smiled a little as she ran her fingertip along the rim of the saucer. "Yes, I was glad he- they didn't blame me. I could certainly understand if they did."

Mary stirred the coffee that was handed to her and looked at Molly with a sly smile. "Mr. Holmes seems to have the utmost respect for you. He obviously values your friendship."

Mary could immediately see color rise in the young woman's cheeks and her suspicion of feelings on Molly's side were very much confirmed.

"Well we…work well together I suppose. He's a lovely man." Molly paused and frowned. "Er, perhaps not _lovely_ all the time really."

Mary chuckled and smiled. "Yes, I think I know what you mean. Perhaps he's not always the most pleasant, but he certainly has his good qualities. It's good of you to see the best in him. I'm sure that's not something he always encounters. You and Dr. Watson are probably two of a very short list of people who care deeply for him."

Molly shrugged. "Everybody needs at least one friend who believes in them."

Mary paused as she thought about what a gem of a human being this woman was, and another smile slowly spread. "I should very much like to be your friend, Molly," she said in a sincere and gentle voice.

Molly grinned in return. "I'd like that as well, Mary…very much."

The two woman happily enjoyed chatting in that café for almost another hour till they both remembered the time and decided to head home.

* * *

Sherlock approached the door to the hospital morgue slowly, somehow feeling a new hesitation and nervousness. He knew her, they were colleagues…what was there to be nervous about? As he pushed the door open, he saw Lestrade already inside speaking to Molly.

"Well, what have we got?" Sherlock asked briskly as he walked over to the two of them standing by the body on the table. "Or should I say _who?_ "

"Afternoon, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said, clearing his throat and stepping away from Molly a bit and focusing on the actual purpose for their visit. "Dr. Hooper had wanted us to come and have a look at this."

Molly looked up at him with obvious concern etched into her usually soft features. "This man was found today. He's dead…obviously. Seems to have been beaten, but stabbing was the actual cause of death. The reason I had you both in was because it seems that you may know him, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Might I?"

Molly nodded. "I do hope he's not a very close friend."

Sherlock chuckled a little. "Close friend? Dr. Hooper, if you do not recognize him, I very much doubt that he is."

"Well, I just thought I'd give you fair warning before I show this to you."

"Show us what?" Lestrade asked.

Molly took a deep breath. "This…" She pulled the sheet back from over the man's body to reveal him from his waist up.

Lestrade's mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. "Good God," he murmured.

The man before them did indeed look like he'd endured quite a bit before succumbing to his injuries. But the actual cause of death wasn't the most disturbing part of the scene. Etched onto the man's chest with the tip of a knife were the words…

STAY OUT OF MY WAY SHERLOCK

Sherlock stared at the man before him, his features barely showing any evidence of emotion. But that was only on the outside.

"Mr. Holmes?" Molly prodded gently. "Do you know him?"

Sherlock drew a breath and finally parted his lips. "I believe so. I do not even know his full name…but I do remember him." He strolled slowly around, circling the table and observing closely. "His name was Joe I believe. I met him at a pub last week. I very skillfully got him drunk while I remained sober, and then I got him to talk. He was the one that told me about where and when I could find Professor Moriarty."

"Moriarty?" Lestrade questioned.

Sherlock remembered he needed to explain. "Ah yes, you haven't yet heard. Professor James Moriarty is the man behind the wave of crime in London recently. My brother's people have finally discovered his actual identity. This is unfortunately the same man that some of us had known as Professor _James Morris,_ " he said, speaking more pointedly to Molly.

Molly looked instantly horrified. She gripped the table and shut her eyes for a moment, understanding the connection that this discovery had to her.

"Apparently he's becoming tired of my sniffing around in his affairs," Sherlock said with a little indignant huff.

"Maybe you should," Molly said, suddenly looking up.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "And why would I do that?"

Molly gestured to the man on the table. "This! This is why. What other reason do you need?"

Lestrade looked back and forth between the two people as they stared at each other in thick silence. "Right, well…I'll get to finding out his full name and next of kin. Perhaps you can send me your official report as soon as possible, Dr. Hooper?"

Molly drew a deep breath and looked at Lestrade sheepishly. "Yes um, I will. I'll send it as quickly as possible."

"Do contact me if you think of anything else of note, won't you, Sherlock?" Lestrade added on his way out. "And watch your back!"

"Indeed," was the detective's brief answer as he continued to watch Molly's obviously agitated body language.

There was a pregnant pause after the door to the morgue shut and they were left alone.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to tell you what to do," Molly said quietly.

"Not a problem," Sherlock answered, but still frowned a little. She was so _concerned._ Why would this worry her so? Was she afraid for herself?

"If you believe Professor Moriarty is likely to come after you-"

"No, I don't," she quickly cut in. "I feel rather sure he doesn't consider me worth his time anymore."

"What exactly did you say to him?" Sherlock asked, thinking a diversion might be helpful anyway.

Molly pulled the sheet up over the man's face again and then pulled her gloves off as she walked away from the table.

"Well naturally he began asking questions about you and your cases…said he found that sort of thing fascinating. He wanted to know if you had anything interesting going right then. So I explained that you really didn't like to tell me much. I told him that you only worked with me…as much as you had to. And I told him that you didn't believe me to be intelligent enough to assist with important crimes. I said you…don't really care for me much." She peered over at him, briefly meeting his piercing gaze before looking away again.

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. "I see," he said as he took a couple of steps toward her. "So…you lied," he said, his deep warm voice melting some of the worry that was hanging over her head.

Molly looked at him and managed a half smile. "I suppose. I mean, I had hoped I was lying."

"I assure you, Dr. Hooper, you were lying." The words he spoke were as comforting as they could be, considering he was the one saying them. It did not go unappreciated by his audience.

Sherlock reverted to the previous topic. "It seems he doesn't connect you to me so much anymore, so why the sudden concern about my involvement?"

Molly frowned. "This was a threat, Mr. Holmes. It was a direct threat to you, and it concerns me to think how far this man is willing to go. You have a marvelous job and you do a thrilling and important work…but is it worth risking your very life?"

Sherlock shrugged. "My life is not worth so much compared to some other things," he answered casually.

Molly sighed in exasperation as she untied her apron and tossed it on the table. "That is not true. Your life is worth a great deal. What would…what would Dr. Watson do if anything happened to you?"

"I think it likely that Dr. Watson is not long for life at Baker Street anyway. He seems to be near the start of a new sort of life for himself, strange as that may seem."

"A-and your brother! He seems to take quite a bit of care about your wellbeing. He would surely feel the loss terribly if anything should happen to you."

Sherlock chuckled. "I highly doubt that!"

"Or Mrs. Hudson! Surely she's come to see you just as her own son."

"Oh yes! A son who she regularly has to tidy up after when he's finished with his unspeakable experiments!" he said with another laugh.

"Or, or…Inspector Lestrade! He would surely miss working with you. You are such an asset to his work in the city!" she said, becoming desperate for any reason besides the one reason that was burning inside her.

"The poor man would likely be relieved to look like the intelligent one on crime scenes again," Sherlock retorted, continuing to be amused.

Molly finally lost her patience and stepped forward to face him. "What about me?!" she spat out, a bit more forcefully than she'd meant to.

There was sudden shift as Molly stared up at him with fire in her eyes. Sherlock's smirk faded and he was disturbed to see the same thing he had seen in her eyes when they were in the powder room of the restaurant. There it was again; that warmth in her gaze that left him feeling completely lost. It frightened him because he didn't know what to do with it. All he could think was that he didn't deserve to be the recipient of a look like that.

"You?" Sherlock asked, not much above a whisper. "You would carry on of course, just as you always do. And you certainly wouldn't waste time shedding any tears over a ridiculous man like me." It was more of an admonition than a statement.

Her expression did not waver. "Say whatever you like, Mr. Holmes, but you're wrong. I am very sorry to tell you that I would not easily carry on," she said, her voice quaking ever so slightly. "And rest assured that I would do absolutely everything in my power and give everything that I am…if it meant keeping you safe."

Sherlock looked down for a moment in order to catch his breath which he had only just realized was stopped short. He looked back at her and tipped his head slightly to the side, examining the woman before him.

"Dr. Hooper, I-I cannot imagine what I would ever ask of you…"

"I hardly know myself," she said with a nervous little smile. "It doesn't really matter though, does it? I meant what I said and you needn't say anything else…except perhaps a simple thanks."

Sherlock swallowed hard. "Thank you," he said, as if on command. It didn't feel right though. He knew full well what she'd just confessed, and even he knew that saying 'thank you' was hardly adequate. But perhaps she was right. What else could he say? She'd been merciful and given him this answer; just a little something to express gratitude. Because she knew very well that there was little else he'd say.

She took quick steps away from him then, putting some distance between them. It relaxed him almost instantly, though he couldn't say he felt better.

"I'm sure you have work to do," she said brightly. "I'll let you get on with your day. I've got to finish up this poor man's report. And there will likely be family coming in later."

Now she was clearly hurrying him off. Perhaps he wasn't the only one at a loss sometimes when it came to sentiment.

"Of course," he said, quickly pulling his leather gloves back on. "I'll say good afternoon then."

"Afternoon, Mr. Holmes," she said with only a brief smile.

Sherlock left quickly and tried his best not to think about the conversation for the rest of the day.

* * *

Later that night Sherlock was busily composing on his violin when John came in the door, shaking rain off his coat and hat.

"You were gone all day," Sherlock stated as he continued playing.

"I was. I went to visit my sister. She had something I needed to get."

"Afraid she'd lose it? Drunks often do misplace things," he said matter-of-factly.

John rolled his eyes. "She's not drinking as much, she's just fine…besides, that's not the point!" He set his things down and took a seat by the fire.

Sherlock glanced over at the man drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. He finally set his violin down and came over to take a seat across from him, swapping his music for lighting his pipe.

"Well, out with it," Sherlock said finally, after taking a puff. "You obviously want to tell me what the actual news is."

John looked very much like he did want to tell. He sat forward in his chair and excitedly reached into his pocket, pulling out a little red box. He opened it to reveal a delicate gold ring with a small ruby on top, encircled by tiny diamonds.

Sherlock looked from the box back to John, and saw that he was grinning like a little boy.

"I'm going to ask Miss Morstan to marry me!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good heavens, I am so sorry!! I completely forgot to continue posting the chapters! They're all here saved in drafts, but I needed to actually keep posting them every couple days and I guess I got busy and distracted. Sorry, to anyone who was waiting! I'll post a few today. ;))

Mary walked down the breezy London street till she came to the designated meeting point. She waited patiently, and not long after, a carriage pulled up. She wasted no time in opening the door and climbing right in. The carriage immediately drove on with her inside.

Mary peered across to the man seated across from her, waiting for what she knew he would say.

"Miss Morstan, you have made things a bit more complicated than they were before, wouldn't you say?"

"I understand your concern. But please let me assure you that I am more than able to handle the added pressure."

"I hope you understand that your responsibilities and the need for discretion will not change, no matter where your life takes you. You were hired to do a job and _this_ was not included in my original plans."

Mary swallowed hard, knowing that John Watson wasn't part of her original plans either. That didn't mean she wasn't more determined than ever to keep him in her life. She could handle it all…she was sure she could.

"I always do my job. But I hope you know that I also intend to live life…my life. It may not have been part of my job here in London, but that does not mean it makes things impossible. I do know how to be careful."

There was silence from the stern man sitting across from her. At length, he sighed and tapped on the roof of the carriage with the handle of his umbrella, requesting the driver to come to a stop.

"Then I am trusting you to continue on as you said you would. I just wanted to make clear that my expectations have not changed. This job has never had anything to do with Dr. John Watson, and there is no reason to involve him now. I am glad we understand each other. And on that note, perhaps you should be off to work." He nodded to her and tipped his hat.

Mary smiled. "Of course…good day, sir. And I shall be in touch soon."

"On the contrary, Miss Morstan. _I_ shall be in touch _with you._ "

She climbed out of the carriage and it soon took off down the street again.

As she watched it disappear and began making her way to the Newspaper, she prayed that she was right. She prayed that she really could do it all, and all the while keep John in the dark. There really was no reason to involve him.

God knows she was hardly in a rush for him to know the truth.

* * *

Sherlock grunted as he pulled himself up the ladder in the dark, wanting to reach the second floor where he knew Molly's flat was. It wasn't terribly easy with at least a couple of cuts in the side of his arm. He finally reached the metal landing that he wanted and wasted no time in shoving her window up, which was already partially open, and hurling himself right inside. As he did so, naturally he was greeted by the sound of a little yelp.

Molly stood there clutching at the fabric of her chemise and looking down at him in horror by the light of the lamp on her bedside table.

"Mr. Holmes I- I don't believe I was expecting you…to drop in my window," she said awkwardly.

"Yes, I imagined you wouldn't be," he said simply.

As he pushed himself up to his feet with a groan, she dove to the end of her bed to retrieve her grey cotton dressing gown and fumbled to yank it up over her arms. Once it was on, she tied it snugly around her waist and looked back at him nervously.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Your flat was simply closer. I had just found a stolen necklace for a client, but unfortunately the thieves also found me. I was being pursued." As he spoke, he went and peered out of her window to look down at the street below.

Molly frowned. "Pursued? Did anyone see you come up here?!"

"Oh, not to worry. I had a good lead. But, you cannot be too careful." He smiled momentarily as he took an uninvited seat on her bed and then began shrugging off his jacket. "Especially when you may have a bit of glass in your arm…"

She let out a little gasp and her eyes got huge as she saw the blood seeping through his shirt. Her embarrassment for the circumstances and her attire evaporated as she rushed over to take a seat beside him and examine the injury.

"How did this happen?!" she exclaimed while unabashedly grasping his arm and helping him yank the sleeve up.

"I was forced to go through a window, though this one wasn't as conveniently opened as yours was." He winced as the fabric dragged across the skin. "It is perhaps fortunate that the night was warmer and I left my hat and coat at home. Saved them a bit of damage…though I suppose that could have also provided an extra layer, preventing the glass from reaching my skin."

"Mr. Holmes, these are awful cuts." She sighed and looked at him. "They should be cleaned immediately."

"Mm," he hummed with a nod. "I thought you might say that. Or rather…I hoped you might."

She couldn't help smiling at the idea that he'd come to her. This was exactly where she hoped he would always come when in need.

As she walked into the little bathroom and began filling a basin and Sherlock set about removing his waistcoat, he took note of how different she looked. Molly pulled her hair over one shoulder and Sherlock could see that it was still damp from an evening bath. Her usual buttoned up and business like appearance was replaced with the soft flow of fabric which hung more than hugged. The dressing gown kept rebelliously sagging off her shoulder as she worked with the basin and rags. In fact, it didn't fit her properly at all.

Sherlock frowned. In fact…that was a man's dressing gown. Interesting.

Molly eventually walked back in and set the basin on the bedside table. She reached in to retrieve a wet rag and gave it a little squeeze before bringing it over to him. As she did so, she realized that Sherlock had become frustrated with rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. As if it were the most normal thing in the world, he reached down and undid the front buttons like lightening, letting it slide off his shoulders...and completely removing it.

Molly tried to look away for a moment as her face turned three shades darker and her eyes got three times wider. She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself not to act like a child. _I'm a doctor. I see shirtless men every day. This is nothing I've not seen before. He is just another man…no different than any other…_

Molly turned fully toward him with the damp cloth and sighed to herself.

_God help me, that is not just any man._

Sherlock glanced at the garment he'd removed. "It is likely ruined, or needs quite a lot of cleaning and mending to be of use again. If I could I would simply return home without it. I think Mrs. Hudson will hang me if she is faced with another ruined shirt."

Molly smiled, glad for the distraction. "I'm sure she sees her fair share of damaged clothing from you."

"One day I'll likely return home to find her outside and angrily burning my entire wardrobe in a bin."

As she began wiping at his skin, Molly let out a little peal of laughter which unexpectedly warmed him.

He noticed how she kept pulling up the sleeves of her dressing gown up as she wiped at the blood on his arm. _Yes, definitely a man's dressing gown_. The sleeves were too long. He looked at the edges around her neckline and around the cuffs and saw a bit of fraying. There was also some less noticeable discoloration and staining in a few places. This was not a new garment, so he quickly concluded that Molly wasn't having any surprising male visitors leave their clothing at her flat. It was at least ten years old from what he could gather. Molly certainly was not a wealthy woman, but she was also far from destitute. She wouldn't have such a garment out of necessity. No…

Sentiment.

Toby hopped up on the bed and made a hesitant little mew as he sniffed around at Sherlock's leg.

"Do not pretend that I'm unfamiliar," he said to the cat. Though he quickly regretted even addressing the animal since it made him apparently comfortable enough to hop onto Sherlock's lap and curl up. He sighed in annoyance but quickly after hissed a breath in through his teeth as Molly made contact with the second cut on his arm.

"Sorry," she said with a sympathetic look. "This one is a bit deeper."

Sherlock set his jaw tightly and tried to distract himself. He looked around her simple little bedroom and saw some sketches on her dresser. They were of the same man, and the man certainly seemed to resemble Molly. Wheels turned as he looked at those pictures carefully put in such a prominent place, and then looked back to the dressing gown sagging on her narrow shoulders.

"Your father," he whispered, making her eyes dart up to his.

"Pardon me?" she whispered back, but even the look in her eyes was an answer.

"How long again has your father been dead?"

Molly looked briefly at the pictures across the room, realizing what he must have deduced. Then she let her eyes fall back to his arm and the work of her hands.

"Um, about three years. Why do you ask?" she said, her voice giving away the weight of the subject.

"Just trying to pass the time and deduce the reason for your ill-fitting and half worn dressing gown. That answers my question." The statement could have come off as simply tactless and rude, but the look in his eyes wasn't as unfeeling as his words.

She smiled shyly. "Yes well, I always loved seeing him relaxing in this dressing gown. It was one of the things I couldn't bring myself to part with once he was gone. I thought it was a nice way to remember him. And of course I did not account for _anyone else_ seeing me in it." She raised a playful eyebrow at him.

"Obviously not." He decided to be a little playful as well. "But I suppose I should hardly be surprised. First you listen to my counsel and stop wearing corsets to the hospital. Perhaps it is only logical that I now find you wearing men's clothing in the privacy of your home!" he said with a smirk.

Molly giggled at his surprisingly friendly teasing. But when she looked up to see his eyes still locked onto her, she could swear she saw something in them that wasn't there before. She would have previously assumed that this man would be immune to the sort of feelings that could be brought on by sitting next to a half dressed woman on a bed. Now she wasn't so sure. She suddenly became intensely aware of the fact that her fingers were curled around his bare arm and that her father's dressing gown had once again slipped most of the way off her shoulder to reveal her rapidly flushing skin and the delicate strap and neckline of her chemise. The laugh melted away from her lips and she felt her breath coming and going faster than before. She was about to set the cloth down and adjust the troublesome garment, but her intent was anticipated.

Sherlock's other hand came up unexpectedly and grasped the edge of the dressing gown, pulling it back over her shoulder. His face may have been expressionless, but his eyes followed the same slow path that his hand took with the fabric. And despite the fact that she was now more appropriately covered, it was again the look in his eyes that made her blush a deep crimson.

His fingers were still slowly, and seemingly reluctantly, letting the fabric slip away from between them as he spoke in a deep whisper. "I know little of sentiment, but I imagine your father, likely being similar to you, would appreciate the way you treasure something of his. Besides…it suits you."

The sincerity of his words and the small but persistent fire in his eyes that looked almost as if it were begging to be stoked…made her teeter on the edge of taking action.

She was so very close to grabbing his hand; not allowing it to leave the fabric of that dressing gown. What would happen, she wondered? What would happen if she did that, or if she also leaned forward and closed the distance between their faces? What if she were to share the same warm breath as him and then finally touch her mouth to his? There was something about this moment that told her he would not push her away and scoff at any advances. If she were reading him correctly, she thought that he might even eagerly welcome them.

But she held back. She couldn't bring herself to do something that could so drastically change things between them. How easy it was for desire, once fulfilled, to morph into something ugly like regret in the literal or figurative light of day. And she knew for certain that one thing more painful than being an unfulfilled desire of Sherlock Holmes…would be if she became his regret.

His hand retreated to his side and he cleared his throat. Molly felt her pulse begin to slow again and she tucked some still damp hair behind her ear. She'd completely forgotten about it and had neglected to braid it like she had planned to do before his arrival.

"Do you think they would still be looking for you?"

"Hm?" he questioned with a frown, and then the previous events came flooding back into his momentarily foggy brain. "Ah yes, well it's certainly possible. Though I can't imagine they'd know where to look."

"I'm not concerned they'd look here if that's what you mean," she clarified. "Actually, I was thinking you're probably rather safe here right now. I was more concerned with the idea of you leaving and getting home at this hour, since they might still be out there."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I could likely manage," he said slowly, though he was beginning to see the wisdom in her words.

Molly pursed her lips, not immediately contradicting him as she took the clean strip of cloth and wrapped it carefully around his arm. Finally she opened her mouth again as she finished securing the wrapping. "Perhaps so. But you needn't take the risk…if you'd rather stay."

Sherlock tilted his head questioningly.

Molly's cheeks got pink again instantly. "It's um, no trouble at all really. You're more than welcome in my bed- I mean I'll sleep on my couch of course!" She laughed nervously. "It's not a very large couch, so I think you wouldn't be very comfortable. Your feet might not quite make it. It would surely be better if you had the extra space."

There was a moment of silence as Sherlock listened to her and mulled over her words.

"Honestly, it's no trouble," she repeated. "I don't mind. In fact, if you ever need somewhere to go…or hide…you should know you're always welcome here."

Sherlock silently picked up his shirt from beside him on the bed, pulled it back over his shoulders, and then began working at the buttons. Finally, he drew a breath and said, "Watson would absolutely have my head if he knew I was asking such a thing of you." A smile played at the corner of his lips.

Molly's smile bloomed in full. "You aren't asking…I'm offering."

Sherlock smiled as well, and then he nodded.

"And I'm accepting."

* * *

Mary's arms pulled John in tighter and she kissed him with increasing fervor in the darkened carriage. She giggled against his lips at his obvious surprise.

"I confess I believed you would accept my proposal," he said, breaking away and breathing hard. "But I had no idea you would be this enthusiastic about the idea!"

Mary chuckled as she enjoyed the feel of his short sandy hair between her fingers. "Regretting your decision, Dr. Watson? I thought you could handle a bit of adventure!" she teased while nuzzling his nose with her own.

He smiled and cradled her face. "You are more than just an adventure...you are my home. I want you to be my joy and comfort and peace. I am so glad I met you, Mary Morstan. I never imagined any woman like you."

She touched his face, mirroring his caresses as she felt her eyes fill. "I do not deserve you," she whispered.

John shook his head. "I do not believe that, not for a moment," he said firmly. "I will make sure you see that."

Mary drowned her nagging uncertainties by pulling him in again and consuming his mouth with passionate kisses as he responded by wrapping his arms around her and holding her as close as the seating inside a carriage would allow. They were barely aware when the carriage came to a stop on the street where Mary lived.

John jumped and pulled his mouth from her jawline as he heard the carriage driver yell. They laughed as they looked at each other, both gasping for breath and looking a little ruffled.

"Oh and um…" John finally thought to ask. "Do you like the ring?"

"Oh yes!" she exclaimed, realizing she'd never said. She had been too focused on immediately accepting the proposal and showering him with appreciative kisses to think about the actual ring. "I love it, John, it's just beautiful."

"I'm so glad," he said with a sigh. "I just couldn't wait to ask you, so I went and got it from my sister. It's a family ring. And now…you're my family. I couldn't be happier, Mary." He kissed her, again making her wrap her arms around his neck and pull him in tight which prompted something like a growl to be heard from the enamored man's throat.

Finally, John pulled himself away. "You had better leave this carriage or neither of us will ever get home," he said shaking his head and laughing.

Mary smiled and bit her lip. She leaned in and pressed one more kiss to his lips before quickly climbing out of the carriage and shutting the door behind her. She peered back into the opened window and smiled at her new fiancé.

"I love you, John Watson." She couldn't help the little tremor in her voice as she spoke.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I love you, Mary. Goodnight." He smiled as she backed away and then he yelled to the driver that they could ride on.

Mary went to bed that night and willed herself to think of the joyful future ahead of her. She would not allow herself to be consumed with fear and guilt. This happiness mustn't be ruined. Perhaps she had never felt she deserved a man like John Watson before, but she was more than determined that she would work for the rest of her life to change that.

* * *

Sherlock marched up the stairs to his flat late that next morning and was surprised to see John right in his face the moment he opened the door.

"My God, Holmes! Where have you been!" John asked, looking a bit panicky. "I came awfully close to contacting the Yard to send out a search…or your brother!"

Sherlock grimaced in horror as he came in and threw his suit jacket down. "I am here and in one piece, as you see, Watson. No need to go to such extremes!" He flopped down in his chair and looked around. "Where is the tea?"

John rolled his eyes. "Why would there be tea? You weren't here when Mrs. Hudson came up, and I'd made mine earlier. But I can see you've had a bit of a difficult night, so I'll make you some if you'd like."

"I thought you'd never ask," he said with a grin.

John strolled into the kitchen, grumbling about the ungrateful clot on the way. "So the case got settled then? Looks like you've been in some sort of scuffle though," John called back to Sherlock as he got the kettle on.

"Oh, this," he said casually, glancing at his missing sleeve. "Just a bit of glass…ruined the shirt. But it was all taken care of last night."

"Oh?" John looked over to see Sherlock sitting still as a statue with his eyes closed and fingers steepled in front of his mouth. "And where were you exactly?"

"Dr. Hooper's." The detective didn't even open his eyes and answered in a monotone.

John paused, frowning to himself and looking around the kitchen as he thought about his friend's answer.

He hesitated. "Dr…Hooper's, did you say?" John finally asked cautiously.

"Mm."

John nodded to himself, still unsure of what Sherlock meant by this. He said nothing till the kettle began to boil and he readied the tea. He brought the tray over and set it down near the still unmoving Sherlock before taking a seat in his own chair.

"So…all night?"

Sherlock's eyes opened. "All night what?"

"I mean to say, did you mean you were at Dr. Hooper's flat all night?"

Sherlock frowned. "Yeees. Why do you ask?"

John tried to come off nonchalant. "I suppose it's just…"

Sherlock sighed as he poured his tea.

"Well you never have mentioned staying at Dr. Hooper's before this. And it's a bit out of the ordinary because well…it's _Dr. Hooper._ " John laughed, but Sherlock remained straight faced so he had to go on more bluntly. "To be frank, she is a young woman who lives alone…and you're a man."

"You've picked up on that have you?" Sherlock asked sarcastically as he dropped a cube of sugar in the cup. "It's a marvel that I am the detective while all you do is write about the cases I solve!"

"Holmes!" John pressed in irritation. "Do not pretend you have no idea what I'm referring to. Do you really feel that it is completely appropriate for you to be staying at her flat…with her…alone? God knows I applaud her for becoming a doctor and having such a successful career. I see nothing wrong with her being your colleague and friend. But even you must have some concept of why sleeping at her flat crosses some boundary of what is acceptable."

Sherlock gave him a bit of a glare. "I care nothing for what is _acceptable,_ Watson. Sometimes I think you care too much," he said with disdain. "It is perfectly acceptable to her, and that is really all that concerns me."

There was silence as John considered this. He opened his mouth to go on, but closed it again. Maybe Sherlock was right. What business was it of his? There was no convincing Sherlock of anything anyway. And who was he to lecture about propriety? Which brought his mind back to the previous night…

"Well I'll say no more on the subject then," John said quickly, and then he cleared his throat. "But there is something else I wanted to speak to you about."

"Could this possible have to do with the dinner that you shared with Miss Morstan last night which made it impossible for you to accompany me on that case?" Sherlock looked smug over the edge of the tea cup. "I did notice right away that you were no longer fumbling in your pocket and regularly checking to make sure that ring box was still there. I deduced that was because you were well aware it was no longer in your pocket. And I can only assume that is because you took it out and presented it to a certain person." He was terribly pleased with himself.

John chuckled and shook his head. "Perhaps I can share my own news, if you please!"

Sherlock waved his hand in a flourish, inviting John to go ahead.

"Yes," John said with a gleeful smile. "I did indeed produce the ring and propose to Mary…and she said yes."

Sherlock managed a warm smile as he reached out and offered his friend a handshake. "I suppose congratulations are customary, so I will offer them. I will also do you the service of refraining from listing all the reasons that marriage tends to be a financial, emotional, mental, and sometimes even physical risk."

John released the firm handshake and gave his best friend a tight smile. "That was very likely the most…unique congratulations I'll be receiving. And thank you." He let out the breath he'd been holding and realized he had been a bit nervous to share his news. He got up and got a tea cup for himself. "I think I'll join you actually."

John poured himself a cup after sitting again and enjoyed the silence for a moment, knowing it would likely be short lived. Only a matter of time till-

"Oh and incidentally, I've lately become convinced that Dr. Hooper is in love with me."

John choked on his tea.


	10. Chapter 10

A few days went by since Sherlock's strange and sudden proclamation to John. He hadn't said much more than that in the moment, and John had left the conversation feeling a bit confused. He wondered why exactly Sherlock had bothered to tell him something like that at all and found it interesting that Sherlock would even pick up on such a thing. It was a bit surprising that Sherlock would be that in tune to the feelings of this woman if he indeed was as indifferent as he claimed.

Sherlock had claimed his indifference that day when John questioned him. He was rather blasé about the whole thing. He was free to admit that Molly seemed to love him, but he brushed off any questions about how this affected him. According to Sherlock, they worked well together and thus it was important for him to be in tune to exactly how she felt about him. It seemed a logical explanation at the time.

But despite his _logic,_ Sherlock couldn't quite get Dr. Hooper out of his mind. He spent the next few days attempting to repress the memories of that recent night spent at her flat. There really wasn't much practical use for some of the details that he kept recalling, but that didn't seem to stop them from popping up.

He was almost certain she washed with Pears soap, and yet he could still detect some of the trademark scents of the hospital where she lived almost half her life. To him it wasn't unappealing, and he'd awoken pleasantly to the same mixed scent which naturally clung to her bed linens. He also knew now how her fingers felt against his bare skin. He could recall how her pupils dilated when looking up at him in the dim lighting of her little bedroom. He was unsure though, of whether it had more to do with the lighting or of his being the focus of her gaze. He recalled how she looked in the morning, bustling about the kitchen with her hair only half pinned up as she insisted on fixing some coffee. She was clearly a little nervous as she gave him a cup and sat down across from him at the little table. He remembered how her cheeks had flushed even when she sweetly asked how his arm was feeling as Toby wound around his feet and batted at his shoe laces. The entire scene and all of its memories were awfully…domestic.

Sherlock had concluded that it was probably best in the future if he vacated the flat before she was up and about. There was no reason to involve himself in and disturb her morning routine. Why complicate things? He thought things didn't have to become complicated...he was sure of it.

But of course that was largely due to the fact that he was ignoring some of the vital details. He was completely ignoring the way that _he_ felt. It didn't take long though, for something very unexpected to force him into being a bit more honest with himself...

* * *

Sherlock stood frozen in the hospital hallway, his eyes glued to the two people who were six or seven meters away. He didn't dare move, no matter how much he wanted to rush to her.

Professor Moriarty held Molly's arm tight with one hand and pressed the barrel of a pistol into her side with the other. Her wrists were tightly tied behind her back and she looked at him with eyes full of fear.

"Mr. Holmes," Moriarty said clicking his tongue and shaking his head slowly. "Did you truly believe yourself to be smarter than me? Did both of you think I was foolish enough to forget about her?"

Sherlock kept his face as expressionless as possible. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said evenly.

Moriarty laughed. "I may have walked away before, but don't think I forgot how she behaved." He turned to Molly and spoke the words closer to her face. "You refused to help me, didn't you? I wonder why…was it really because you didn't know anything about the great Sherlock Holmes?" He looked back up at Sherlock as he went on. "Or was it because you're in love with him?"

Molly remained silent and wouldn't look at either man.

"And I wonder how Mr. Holmes truly feels about you." He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned and shrugged in a convincingly casual way. "She is nothing to me," he answered instantly.

"Hm," Moriarty said with a nod and then looked to Molly again. "A bit disappointing for you, is it not? You have my deepest sympathies."

"It seems pointless to involve her in our dispute. Your business is with me," Sherlock said firmly. "She is nobody, knows nothing, and is meaningless to me. There is no purpose to her being here at all."

Moriarty slowly bobbed his head back and forth for a moment as he mulled over those words.

"Do you know, Mr. Holmes…I think you're quite right. There likely isn't any purpose to her being here."

Something in his eyes made Sherlock's blood run cold. For some reason, Molly chose that moment to finally looked directly at Sherlock and find her voice.

"Mr. Holmes…please," she said in a shaky whisper.

Moriarty continued on. "Seeing as she's no use to me, and she's also no use to you…I would say it is indeed time for her to…go."

_Bang._

The gun went off and Sherlock was shocked at the feeling that a hole had been ripped through his own side even as he watched Molly slip from Moriarty's grasp and crumple to the ground. It was as if he saw it all in slow motion, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't manage to make his feet move. He watched it all, powerless to do anything. All he could do was stand there and scream her name…

"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes! Are you all right?!"

Sherlock sat up in Molly's little bed, wide eyed and gasping for breath. He looked at her like she was a ghost, and she stared back at him with eyes almost as wild.

"What's wrong? I heard you crying out! You were...calling my name." She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and now that he'd sat up their faces were not very far apart.

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair and let out a deep breath, relieved and grateful that what he'd just seen and experienced had actually been a dream.

He didn't really answer her questions or explain himself. He simply reached up and cradled her face in his hands, his fingers reaching back into the softness of her hair. He was still breathing hard as he spoke.

"You are not meaningless," he said, almost in a growl. "You mean more to me than you know. You have _always_ meant something to me! All I wanted to do was to protect you, I swear it!"

"Shh, it's all right," she said gently and wrapped her cool hands around his wrists. "It's just a dream. I'm perfectly safe."

Sherlock slowly shook his head. His eyes traversed her face, barely visible in the darkened room. "But what if a day comes when it isn't a dream? What if I can't save you?"

Molly's face was so strangely peaceful. She didn't look concerned at all. She was the calm water below the surface and he was the storm raging above it.

She moved her thumbs gently over his hands. "What if it's _my_ job to save _you_?" she whispered. She took one of her hands away from his wrist and brought it up to his face. She gently caressed his cheek and then let her thumb drift over to trace his bottom lip.

He felt his head spinning as if he were drunk, but was also suddenly struck with an intense clarity and focus. His singular focus…was her.

She barely had time to move her thumb out of the way before he leaned forward to crash his lips into hers. His mouth opened, eager to taste hers as he felt her arms slide around his neck.

He quickly realized that there was something strange about this kiss. He could hear her breathing and sighs and feel her arms holding him and the warmth that coursed through his body, but he felt as though his lips and tongue were almost…numb. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how passionately he kissed her, something was muted. He became more frustrated with each passing second, and finally hooked an arm around her waist to drag her onto the bed along with him.

Sherlock hovered over her and continued trying to kiss her as best he could. He finally groaned in frustration and lifted his face a couple of inches to look down at her.

"Why can't I do this? Why?!" he asked through gritted teeth.

Molly stared up at him in adoration, still looking perfectly content and calm. She stroked his face again. "You _can._ You can kiss me any time you want. You just have to try."

"I am," he said in a defeated tone as he moved his hand to firmly grasp her waist, desperately trying to show her how badly he wanted this.

Molly chuckled lightly. "No you aren't. You haven't yet tried at all, not _really_."

Sherlock's expression fell and things felt a little foggier as he spoke again in a whisper. "I'm still dreaming." His fingers dug harder into her waist, now afraid of this moment inevitably slipping away.

She didn't respond to that statement, not surprisingly. Molly simply grasped his face, dragging him down again. "Please kiss me… _please, Sherlock..._ "

Sherlock tried. He kissed her with everything he had in him, till he thought it might hurt. He held her so tight he was afraid she might just break. And yet he still only felt a mere hint of the connection of his mouth to hers.

He persisted in kissing her as long as he could, till the scene became hazy and every sense of the moment began to fade and slip through his fingers. And soon, he couldn't feel her at all anymore…

* * *

Sherlock sat up in bed for what felt like the second time. But this time, as he desperately looked around and sucked as much air into his lungs as possible, he found himself to be at home in his own bed at Baker Street.

He squeezed his eyes shut to block the sun streaming in through the drapes as he wiped at the sweat on his brow. When he opened his eyes again and his respirations finally slowed, he actually felt his cheeks heat up and a wave of embarrassment hit him as some of the details of the dream replayed in his mind.

Sherlock leaned his elbows on his elevated knees and rested his forehead on his palms. His head was pounding. Perhaps it was best to get up and try to clear his mind a bit. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed and grabbed his dressing gown to throw on as he stood up.

He marched out of the bedroom and down the hall. John was in the living room reading the paper and Mrs. Hudson was making some tea and toast for the men. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, are you quite all right? You look as if you've not had much sleep," the landlady said in a motherly tone.

Sherlock did little more than grunt in reply. He walked past her and took a seat in his chair with a sigh.

"Morning, Holmes," John said with a little smile, but his expression changed as he looked more carefully at his friend. "I'd have to agree with Mrs. Hudson, you do not look well."

"I am perfectly well," he grumbled. "I had a bit of a…disturbed sleep pattern this morning."

"I'm sure some tea will set things right," Mrs. Hudson said cheerfully as she brought the tray over. "Oh and isn't it wonderful about Dr. Watson and Miss Morstan, Mr. Holmes? I couldn't be more pleased!" She gave John a warm smile as she handed him his cup.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I'm very pleased as well. I shall be sorry to leave all of this though," he said with a smile at her in return. "Baker Street has been a wonderful home."

"And we will miss you dreadfully, won't we Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Are we quite done with the pleasantries this morning, Mrs. Hudson? I know I've had just about all I can stomach!"

"Oh, you tiresome man!" she said with a giggle and a little slap of his shoulder. She looked at John. "Don't you mind a word he says. He will most certainly miss you!"

Sherlock leaned his head against his palm again as Mrs. Hudson finally exited the room.

Once she was gone, John leaned forward. "Honestly, Holmes, are you all right?"

"I'll be fine, I'm sure. Just a slightly disturbing dream," he muttered without looking up.

"Oh, I see," John said, still looking at him in concern. "Sometimes it helps to describe it aloud."

Sherlock looked up again, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "That seems a bit...unappealing…given the nature of the dream." He looked at John and raised an eyebrow.

John stared back at him for a moment with narrowed eyes. Then suddenly his eyes widened and jaw dropped a bit in recognition. "Oh, ah, well…hm." John leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands in his lap, unclasped them, cleared his throat, and then finally opened his mouth again. "If you are uncomfortable, there's certainly no need to share anything of a…personal nature. The offer stands of course, but no obligation."

Sherlock sighed. Processing information of all kinds was what kept him sane. Usually he was taking information from the outside and depositing it into his mind. But in this case it was as if he needed to extract the information _from_ his mind in order to hopefully sort it out and be free of it. Perhaps the only logical thing was to discuss it.

"I believe, Watson, that I am being unconsciously affected by the recognition of Dr. Hooper's…feelings for me."

John made another expression of shock. "Does this- do you mean- that is…are you saying that Dr. Hooper was present in this dream?"

"Present, and very much actively involved, yes."

John nodded with eyebrows still raised high. "I see. Well, perhaps you'd better start at the beginning."

About five minutes later, when Sherlock had finished detailing the dream, John blinked rapidly and rubbed the back of his neck as he experienced some second hand embarrassment. "Well that was…eye opening."

"What I found fascinating," Sherlock said, suddenly looking more alert and animated. "Was the fact that I could feel and experience almost everything in the dream, but my senses seemed to fall short at the actual kiss. I believe it proves a very interesting point about dreaming and the unconscious mind."

"And what is that?"

"What we experience in our dreams is not based on our imagination as some people might believe. The things that we seem to feel, smell, hear and see are based on _memories._ That has to explain why I couldn't really feel the kiss."

John frowned. "Have you never kissed a woman?"

"Of course I've kissed a woman," he said with a huff, a rare glimpse of his natural male ego showed itself. "But I haven't kissed _her._ My mind knows the difference!" He tapped the side of his head, looking pleased that he'd worked something out.

John looked a little confused. "And you feel that this is what's notable about the dream? How about the fact that you're afraid something will happen to her? Or that you imagined her coming to comfort you? Or that you ended up kissing her in a bed? Do none of those things strike you as an important messages from your subconscious?"

"What sort of message are you meaning?" Sherlock asked with an air of superiority.

"What about the very words that you said to her in the dream? She _means something to you_. Please do not try to tell me that those words have nothing to do with reality."

Sherlock shifted in his seat as his eyes roamed the room instead of making eye contact. "Of course she means something. She is a trusted friend and colleague."

John snorted out a laugh and shook his head. "As am I, Holmes! Likely you will be having a similar dream about me any day now, hm?"

Sherlock's mouth contorted in mild disdain as he continued to avoid eye contact.

"In all honesty and sincerity, Holmes," John said, leaning forward. "Why would you not consider courting Dr. Hooper?"

Sherlock chuckled sardonically. "I experience _one_ moment of subconscious physical weakness and you believe that to be the foundation of a _marriage_? Watson, if I hadn't met Miss Morstan myself and decided on how right she is for you, I would currently be questioning whether you understand what the appropriate reasons for matrimony are!"

"It is not just the dream!" John argued as Sherlock got up to stand by the window. "The dream merely indicates that you unconsciously harbor feelings that I already believed you to have! I told you before, she is practically made for you."

"She would surely be miserable," he said quietly and with just a hint of barely detectable disappointment. The fact that he'd suddenly shifted the issue to whether she would be happy and not whether he was interested was more telling than he realized.

"Would she?" John questioned as he got up to stand nearer to Sherlock by the window. "She's not been scared off yet, and I believe she has already experienced quite a lot of what it means to be a part of your life. A woman like that does not come around every day."

Sherlock said nothing.

"Holmes, did you anticipate that getting a flat mate would result in gaining a best friend?" John asked gently.

Sherlock turned and looked at him for a moment before turning away again and answering. "I didn't assume it would, no."

"Exactly," John said emphatically. "My point is that things do not always go as we assume they will. Sometimes things do actually turn out to be much better than we think. Perhaps you've always believed you can't be with a woman because of the distraction, or perhaps you believe Dr. Hooper would be unhappy with you in the end. But you do not know either of those things conclusively. You just recently told me that you think she is in love with you, so why assume that she would be unhappy? And why should you not consider the possibility that such a relationship could actually do positive things for you, perhaps enhancing your mental abilities and focus?"

"That is still a risk, Watson. If- _if_ I took that risk, I would be gambling with her happiness as well as my own. How could I take the chance to lose that much?" he asked seriously, and again he unwittingly gave John hope that he was actually considering this.

"Well the answer to that is simple, Holmes. It is because the _gain_ is far greater than the risk of loss. And I know you fancy yourself a bit above the rest of us and in a completely separate and unique position. But allow me to tell you that what you are considering, and the chance of gain and loss you are weighing…is nothing short of universal. Everybody contemplates the risks. But most of us just decide not to be unduly afraid of them."

John turned and walked away after a moment of continued silence from his friend. But as he neared the door, Sherlock turned and spoke.

"And what is it that you risk, Watson?" As John turned again, he added more. "What have you decided not to be unduly afraid of?

Sherlock was deadly serious, and John could see that. He pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. "Perhaps…perhaps I simply know so well what loss is and how easily it can happen. I suppose it frightens me to think of having anything I love…because I know I could lose it." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

Sherlock nodded. "And yet, you still want it."

John shrugged. "More than anything."

The detective's eyes roved back and forth, examining things in his mind rather than in the room. He was being forced to weigh decisions and possibilities that he never thought he would.

John stopped again before exiting the room. "Oh and speaking of my impending marriage, I forgot to mention one more thing. Or perhaps you already know this…have you spoken to your brother recently?"

"I have not. Why?"

John's brow furrowed a bit. "Well this may seem odd, but yesterday Mary said she happened upon Mycroft and told him of our engagement, at which time he offered the use of a very exclusive reception venue for us on the evening of our wedding. He insisted that the owner was a friend of his and renting it would be at no cost to any of us, and that he would be pleased to arrange it as his gift. So…it seems this will now be a surprisingly lavish evening affair."

Sherlock's brow crinkled as well. "Mycroft offered this?"

John nodded. "Apparently he is much more a fan of weddings than any of us would have guessed."

"Hm," Sherlock hummed as he also considered the oddity of this information, considering Mycroft was not close to John and barely knew Mary at all. "I suppose we can only conclude that he wanted to ensure his invitation and involvement in the affair."

"Still a bit surprising though," John maintained.

"Well," Sherlock said with a smug little smirk. "He always has been _exceedingly_ fond of wedding cake."


	11. Chapter 11

Molly knocked on Mary's door and clearly hear her voice inside speaking to someone else. Mary stopped talking and came over to answer the door. "Hello?"

"Mary, hello. It's um, Molly Hooper…from the hospital."

"Oh, Molly!" Mary exclaimed happily as she unlocked and opened her door. She gave Molly a hug right away. "Hello, how are you? Come in, please."

Molly came in shyly, clutching a large box in her arms. She made eye contact with the lovely brunette who sat on Mary's couch.

"Molly, this is Anthea. She's a…friend of mine."

Anthea stood and gave Molly a lady-like handshake. "How do you do?"

"Very well, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Anthea," Molly said with a smile. She looked back and forth between the two women for just a moment. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Oh no!" Mary assured her. "Please sit down. We were just working on the arrangements for the wedding reception. I do hope you've gotten your invitation!"

"I have, yes. In fact, that was one of the reasons I had wanted to stop by. You see, I was thinking of what to wear and, well…I was hoping to get your opinion." Molly looked a little embarrassed. "I don't have many lady friends, so I hardly knew who to ask."

"Did you bring a dress with you?" Anthea asked, looking at the box that Molly set next to her chair.

"I did. It was a gift from my father when I was still in university. He was a bit over excited about his daughter becoming a doctor. Of course, I haven't had any call to wear it yet. I wondered if I'd ever even get to take it out of the box."

Mary's eyes lit up and both she and Anthea looked like they were ready to open the box themselves. "May we see? I would absolutely love some distraction from the more mundane wedding plans and organization!"

Molly hesitated for a second, then picked the box up and pulled the lid off to reveal the delicately folded garment inside. Both of the other women let out a little gasp.

"Molly, this is…exquisite!" Mary breathed out with a palm pressed to her chest. "Please tell me you'll wear this! It is the perfect dress for this occasion!"

"Is it?" Molly asked, her face blooming in a grin. "Oh, I did hope you would say that. I don't have much experience with this sort of thing, so I thought it best to hear your opinion."

"Anthea, is this not the most perfect dress?" Mary prompted her friend to back her in the judgement of this garment.

"Absolutely perfect," Anthea immediately said, and with a rather authoritative voice. "You could do no better than this, my dear. I doubt if I will be in a dress this fine!" She leaned forward and spoke with seriousness to Molly. "Tell me, have you had it properly fitted?"

"Well, no," Molly admitted. "I have a bit of basic sewing skills myself, so I thought I might just-"

"Oh no!" Anthea said, shaking her head briskly. "Molly, do allow me to give you the name of the best seamstress I know. And if you mention to her that Anthea sent you, she will consider the work as a personal favor to me."

Molly's jaw dropped. "That's awfully generous of you! I do hope it wouldn't be any trouble."

"No no!" Anthea said with a wave of her gloved hand as she stood and went over to the small writing desk that Mary had near the window. "I give her plenty of business and she is kind enough to do me a favor now and again." She scribbled on a page and then brought it to Molly.

Molly grasped the page and smiled at the name and address. "How lovely that I happened to meet you here today. You're very kind…I do hope I'll see you at the wedding."

"I believe you shall," Anthea said with a smile at Mary. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. As long as there aren't any pressing matters of national security, I shall certainly be there." All three women laughed as if it were a clever little joke.

Two of them knew it wasn't.

* * *

Sherlock peered into the dead man's stomach and hummed little notes to himself under his breath. As he did, be became aware of the tapping on the floor.

"Dr. Hooper," he said, without looking up. "Must you tap your foot like that?"

"Sorry," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm just a bit anxious I suppose."

"What for?"

"Well I have got to go to the seamstress directly after I leave Bart's. I must pick up my gown for Dr. Watson and Mary's wedding." She peered at him, looking for any little sign of interest. "It is only in a few days and I've got to make sure the gown is just right and that I have it in time."

"Mm," was his only response.

Molly sighed quietly to herself and thought that perhaps she'd need to be more direct. "Mr. Holmes, if you could perhaps speed up your observations…"

Finally Sherlock lifted his head and frowned at the woman looking up at him. "Are you asking me to leave?"

Molly licked her lips and pressed them together, and then she spoke again. "I understand you're enjoying this little…investigation. But I think it is rather clear by this time that this man did die of natural causes. It was already a bit of a reach for me to advise a full post mortem. But I should think by now there is little justification in doing anything other than wrapping this up." She punctuated her statement with a tight smile.

At length, he sighed and took a step back. "As you wish. Though I must say I am surprised at you, Dr. Hooper. Putting a gown before a post mortem…I'm a bit disappointed."

"I do need a suitable dress to wear to the wedding, Mr. Holmes," she said, as if explaining to a child.

Sherlock shrugged. "I have wedding responsibilities as well, though I am hardly in a rush to fulfill them. Apparently it is for me to take Watson on some sort of 'stag night.' I can't see the point in such a thing, but the duty still falls on me."

"Oh, I think that'll be lovely!" she exclaimed. The idea of the two of them out for a night on the town was both humorous and endearing.

"A bit tedious. Most such evenings center around alcohol, gambling, and women. Those are all things that hold little appeal for me." He pulled his coat on, maintaining his aloof expression.

Molly chose to ignore some of what he said. She certainly didn't feel like arguing with the part about women. "If alcohol holds no appeal for you, then you'd better be cautious when going out with Dr. Watson for a stag night."

"I do think I know how to drink in moderation, Dr. Hooper!" he huffed with an air of superiority.

"Just a friendly word of caution," she said with a smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Sherlock obeyed and got himself out of the morgue so that she could prepare to leave as well. He wondered exactly what John was thinking to expect him to throw a stag party before the big day. He was probably the least logical man for the job.

"Serves me right for being someone's best friend," he muttered while climbing the stairs of Bart's.

* * *

John slammed the empty glass down on the table as Sherlock peered at him over his own glass and did his best to keep up. Lestrade clapped John on the shoulder and suggested a game of pool. Sherlock was grateful that Lestrade and Anderson could accompany them. He felt ill equipped to continue being entertaining all evening. He enjoyed being with John of course, but normally this wasn't the setting. He was better company on a murder investigation.

John gave Sherlock a knowing smile as he walked off to have a game of pool. He was well aware that his friend was trying his best in a situation that was somewhat foreign to him.

Sherlock got up from the table as well, completely unwilling to stay there sitting with only Anderson. He strolled over to the side of the room and observed while leaning on the wall near the bar. Suddenly, he heard a very familiar voice.

"Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Holmes. I hadn't thought this was your sort of establishment."

The intoxicating voice of Miss Irene Adler instantly made Sherlock turn. "Miss Adler, I cannot say the same for you. I think this is just the sort of establishment I would expect to see you in," he said as she sauntered over closer in a fiery red satin dress. "And what brings you here tonight? Business or pleasure?"

"Hardly a difference for the likes of you and I, Mr. Holmes. I should think you would agree." She stared up into his eyes before glancing over to the bartender and gesturing to him. She requested a bottle of champagne to be sent to the private dining room upstairs.

"Strangely enough, I am not here on business," Sherlock admitted. "Dr. Watson will be married tomorrow, and it was up to me to throw him a stag party. Yet another reason it was foolish of him to give me the job of best man."

"Mm, Dr. Watson getting married," she said with a sly smile. "You should have sent word to me. I would have ensured that he had a stag night he'd never forget!"

"That is precisely why I did not send word to you," Sherlock said with a grin. "I feel sure that Watson wasn't interested in a stag night of that sort. He happens to be getting married because he's found a woman that he loves. He isn't likely to do anything that would upset her."

Irene slid a hand up his arm. " _You_ aren't getting married," she said, her words dripping with honey.

Sherlock looked down at her discerningly. "Indeed, I am not. Far too much trouble for me," he said firmly, being as convincing as he could to both himself and his audience.

"I agree." She smiled brightly. "Perhaps you should celebrate the fact that you are continuing on as a bachelor." She called to the bartender for a whisky. "You clearly haven't yet had enough to drink tonight."

She handed him the glittering glass of alcohol a moment later, and Sherlock took it hesitantly. He stared back at her for a moment, then surprised them both by throwing the entire contents back into his mouth. He sucked air into his burning mouth and throat as he set the glass down.

"That's more like it," she said with a chuckle. She draped her arms around his neck and leaned against his chest, making the low cut neck line of her dress undeniably obvious. "I do wish I could spend more time with you, Mr. Holmes. I would have cleared my schedule if I'd known!"

Sherlock laugh was low and rumbling. "I doubt it. I don't recall you ever putting me before your personal business ventures before, Miss Adler." He could already feel the alcohol loosening his tongue.

The gleam in her eyes grew and she looked a little more determined. "You say the word, Mr. Holmes, and my time belongs to nobody but you tonight. What do you say to that? I can think of more than one mystery I'd like to uncover with you," she said suggestively and leaned up to press a lingering kiss to his cheek, not far from his lips.

Sherlock would be lying if he said that his long denied senses didn't all burst into flames at the touch of her lips to his skin. But it was relatively brief, and his head stopped spinning almost as soon as she pulled her face away from his.

Sherlock removed her arms from his neck. "I imagine your _guest_ is beginning to miss your company upstairs."

"A shame," Irene said with a sigh. "Perhaps another time then?"

"Unlikely," Sherlock said with a wink and then turned to the bar tender, holding up the empty glass. "Another!"

"Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Holmes. And don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That seems easily accomplished…it's a rather short list of things to avoid!"

Irene gave him a fond smile before turning with a swish of her skirts and rounding the corner again. He watched her leave and then gripped the glass the bartender pushed toward him. Perhaps Irene was right. He should celebrate the fact that he wasn't getting married. Imagine all the fuss he was being saved! Sherlock chuckled to himself before throwing back more of the whiskey. It didn't burn so much this time, and he rather liked the way it dulled and softened his mind. The effect was similar to other substances he'd tried.

As Sherlock went over to find John and Lestrade at the pool tables, there was already a very subtle swerve in his gait…

* * *

Sherlock lifted his head and immediately groaned as he felt the pounding pressure in his skull. It took him a moment to register the fact that he wasn't actually in his own bed. In fact, it wasn't a bed at all. He was lying outside a door. As he pushed himself up to sit, he realized that he was in a hallway outside Molly Hooper's flat.

He did some quick calculations about the location of the gentlemen's club they were at and confirmed that Molly's flat was indeed about a half mile closer to it than his own. That explained his presence here. He turned his head slowly and noticed a paper lying on the floor beside him. He picked it up and squinted at the note scribbled on it.

_Mr. Holmes,_

_I went to Miss Morstan's flat to help her get ready for the ceremony and reception. I'll be readying myself there as well. I shall see you this evening…preferably in a very different state._

_-M. Hooper_

Sherlock set the paper down and continued cradling his head. He needed some coffee…shame that Molly was gone. He decided it best to head back to Baker Street right away, especially since John would probably be there waiting for him. Surely John would already be fretting about the day's activities if he was awake.

Sherlock picked up his crumpled coat from the floor. He'd clearly taken it off and used it as a makeshift pillow. He carried his hat instead of putting it on, seeing as the idea of setting anything on his head made him feel like it might explode. It was all he could do to get himself downstairs, hail a cab, and give his home address.

* * *

John moaned from his chair by the fire when Sherlock came into 221B and shut the door.

"Not so loud, Holmes!"

"Is it any consolation that I am in equal discomfort right now?" Sherlock threw his hat and coat down and leaned on his chair. "Coffee," he said in a groan.

John didn't even say anything. He simply pointed to the kitchen where there was a pot sitting on a tray.

"Thank God for Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock murmured gratefully as he made his way to the steaming dark liquid. After he'd poured some and had taken a couple of sips, he felt ready to actually attempt to converse.

"Were you here all night?" Sherlock asked as he took his seat again across from John.

John nodded. "Mm…though I believe I didn't get back here till rather late. Where were you?"

Sherlock considered his answer for a moment. Frankly, he didn't feel like telling John that he'd ended up at Molly's flat. The first time made enough waves, and he didn't feel up to another barrage of counsel from his friend. Especially since he was rather hazy on the details himself.

"I got some sleep at a nearby bolt hole." Not really a lie…just a vague truth. And thankfully John didn't seem in the mood to press him further.

"From what I remember, you were more…enthusiastic about the festivities last night than I expected you to be." John sat up in order to have another sip of his own coffee.

"Yes well, I suppose I hadn't planned to drink as much as I did." _Irene Adler,_ he remembered. "Somebody helped my along."

"Well we had both better sober up!" John announced forcefully. "I will not be a mess at my own wedding! I think Mary might just kill me." He ran his palms roughly over his face.

"Between the two of us, I believe she's more likely to kill me!" Sherlock said with an accompanying chuckle at such a ridiculous statement. "Not to worry, Watson. You will be there and you will get married this evening. It will be the wedding that you and Miss Morstan have been dreaming of! I feel sure of it."

"Good," John said with a clap of his hands. "Now pour me some more coffee and let's get to it!"

* * *

Some hours later, Sherlock watched as John and Mary exchanged vows. He did notice Molly in the back of the church, but she seemed intent on staying focused on the ceremony. When it was all over and the new bride and groom had left, she also quickly made her exit. Sherlock knew he'd see her at the evening's festivities, so he didn't bother to try and catch up to her. He supposed he should explain himself at some point. It seemed he'd slept on her doorstep. She likely had to literally walk over him in order to leave! Perhaps she was bothered…though neighbors were unlikely to notice since she was on the top floor and nobody else would have been walking up there.

A while after the ceremony, Mycroft picked Sherlock up in his carriage and they rode together to the reception.

"I hadn't mentioned how strangely…magnanimous your offer was to gift the Watsons their reception venue," Sherlock said as they rode along the city streets.

Mycroft shrugged. "It seemed a logical thing to do. Dr. Watson has been a friend to you for many years now. Why should I not appreciate and be generous with anyone who helps lighten my tedious task of keeping an eye on you?"

"Hm," was Sherlock's only response. It actually didn't make much sense to him, but perhaps Mycroft had some sort of hidden agenda up his sleeve.

"Besides, I know how fond you are of dancing, brother mine," Mycroft said with a teasing smirk. "Wouldn't want you to miss a prime opportunity."

Yet another unlikely reason. Sherlock was beginning to suspect that Mycroft definitely had some sort of plan for John or the Watsons…he'd simply have to figure out what it was.

Sherlock walked into the grand reception hall, the lights of which glittered like the stars that would soon be emerging in the sky. John and Mary stood together and greeted their guests by the door. Both their eyes lit up when they saw Sherlock approaching. He kissed Mary's hand and shook John's.

"Mrs. Watson, I am terribly pleased to finally address you as such," Sherlock said to her with a genuine smile.

"And I am glad to call you a friend, Mr. Holmes. John has been fortunate to have you in his life, and I think I would be privileged to say the same for myself."

"Makes for a more adventurous life, that is certain," John added with a laugh.

Just then, Molly came up to Mary…and Sherlock's jaw promptly dropped hard and fast to the ground.

Her hair was swept up in a distinguished swirl at the crown of head. There were a few tendrils of curls left out at her nape and hairline around her face. She had delicate little earrings of dangling white flowers. And then there was her dress…

She wore a sunny yellow silk satin gown with a draped neckline which also covered just the side of her shoulders. There was lace appliqué all down the bodice and skirt, and the skirt trailed behind her feet on the floor, accentuating the beautiful shape. The shape…was perfect. It fit her like it was made for her and only her. In fact, Sherlock couldn't imagine anyone else wearing that dress. He mused that there should only be this one dress of its kind in all the world, as it would be unfair to expect anyone else to live up to the way that Molly Hooper looked in it.

Sherlock had taken a complete overview of her appearance in less than five seconds, but it was long enough for John and Mary to notice his face.

"Good evening, Dr. Hooper," he said softly, with a slight nod of his head. He was surprised at the instant blush that covered her cheeks.

"Evening," she said quickly and with a small smile. She looked away almost as soon as she could and began speaking to Mary in hushed tones. Something about the punch.

"Oh yes of course," Mary answered her. "Would you tell them to bring out both kinds of punch together, instead of one at a time? I had wanted to give our guests the option."

"I'll tell them right away," Molly said with a smile at the new bride. She glanced ever so briefly at Sherlock, and then hurried away. Sherlock's eyes remained glued to her till she rounded the corner.

"I'm sure that you realize you'll need to speak to her as soon as possible," Mary said, making him turn to her and frown in question.

"Why? What's the matter? Is this about the…hallway in her flat?" he asked, lowering his voice a little. She did seem awfully embarrassed to even be in his presence. Something had to be bothering her. Was it really just his sleeping off the alcohol on the floor of-

Mary began laughing and cut through his thoughts.

"Holmes, what did you do?" John asked nervously.

"Mr. Holmes," Mary said as gently as possible. "I think you need to revisit any possible repressed memories from last night _._ " She looked at him pointedly.

Sherlock's expression fell. And in the instant she said it, he was transported back to the previous night and could clearly remember the details that his addled mind had failed to recall this morning.

"Oh, dear Lord," he murmured after a moment, looking horrified. Now it was clear why she was so uncomfortable to see him just now. It was also quite clear why he had ended up sleeping on the floor in that hallway. In fact, he was fortunate that was all that had happened. Sherlock was well aware that she could have slapped him.

She would have had every right.


	12. Chapter 12

" _Dr. Hhhooper!" he called while banging on the door._

_After a moment, Molly came to her door and opened it to reveal her concerned expression. "Mr. Holmes, what are you doing here? Is there some kind of…trouble?"_

_Sherlock leaned forward slamming his body weight against the door frame and giving her a crooked smile. "Your flat…bit closer than mine."_

_Molly frowned. "Are you…drunk?" she asked while observing and answering the question for herself._

" _Pffff!" Sherlock chuckled and snorted in the process. "I'm tiiiired! Been out all night. Watson, an Lestrade, an Anderson…they made me go!" He waved his hand in disgust. "Would have stayed home an esssperimented…if I had my way."_

_Molly cleared her throat and looked a little uncomfortable. "Mr. Holmes, I think you should get back to Baker Street. You seem to be in need of a good night sleep and a strong cup of coffee in the morning." She began to swing the door shut slightly. "So I'll just let you-"_

_Sherlock stopped the door with his hand and gave her another smile. "Dr. Hooper- No! Molly! Yes, Molly, tha's it. I should really have a bit of a lie down. You don' mind me staying, do you?"_

_Molly didn't budge. "Mr. Holmes," she said firmly. "I told you that you could stay at my flat if you felt the need to be somewhere safe and discreet. I did not tell you that you could come here and sleep because you'd been drinking and were too lazy to get all the way home."_

_Sherlock chuckled a little and shook his head before leaning in a little closer. "Molly- no, I mean…Dr. Hooper! Come now, I think we both know that you can't be upset at my being here. Bit silly don' you think?" He laughed a little more and gave her a somewhat flirtatious smile._

" _What's silly?" Molly asked, not looking at all amused._

_Sherlock shrugged. "Tha' you would act unhappy to see me! You always like ssseeing me. The reason's more than obvious!" He did a little flourish with his hand, looking pleased with himself._

_"Oh really?" she said, crossing her arms around her middle and continuing to look unimpressed with his behavior. "And what reason is that?"_

_Sherlock leaned in a little closer. "You...love me." He grinned while staring blankly into her horrified eyes._

_Molly's lips pressed tightly together and her face turned beet red. She had to force down emotion that was trying to bubble up before opening her mouth to answer his thoughtless words. Her face conveyed her disappointment clear as day._

" _How dare you?" she whispered. She shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing and seeing. "I'm going to try to ignore this. I am. Because this is not you. I don't believe that even you would say something so insensitive if it weren't for the fact that you are drunk out of your stupidly brilliant mind. So I will try to let it go." Her voice hardened considerably then and she pointed warningly at him. "But you will not misuse my offer of help in an instance like this! You need to sleep, but it will not be in here. Walk home, sleep on this floor, do what you like…but you are not coming in!"_

_Sherlock squinted. "Dr. Hooper…I can barely focus on what you're saying with you swaying like that…would you mind standing still?"_

_Molly let out an exasperated sigh. "Good night, Mr. Holmes. Do not knock again or I will send for Inspector Lestrade!" She shut the door and latched it instantly._

_Sherlock huffed and wagged his head at the strange rudeness of this usually kind friend of his. Wagging his head made him a bit dizzy though, and he promptly decided to slide down to the floor. Seemed as though he'd be sleeping right here…_

* * *

Sherlock dearly wanted to step outside and have a smoke on his pipe as the memories of the previous night played through his mind. This was not turning out to be the carefree evening he'd hoped for. Well, perhaps it was what he hoped for. He had wanted the evening to be perfect for John and Mary, and that much did seem to be a success. The happy couple had greeted their guests and were now having a glass of champagne at the head table as music began to play.

Sherlock glanced around the room from his place near the window and quickly picked out Molly again. It wasn't difficult. She looked like a ray of bright sunshine in the soft lighting of the ballroom. She stood with Anthea, smiling and talking about something amusing. She giggled and bit her lip, then covered her mouth with the fingers of her gloved hands, obviously trying to maintain ladylike composure and not laugh out loud. Sherlock smiled a little at the sight. The scene well illustrated the point that despite her beauty and her stylish appearance, she was still a little out of place in this setting. But wasn't that really one of the reasons why he so deeply-

The smile dissolved from Sherlock's lips and he swallowed hard. Anyone looking at the great detective in that moment would have said he looked a bit panic stricken. And that was exactly how he was feeling.

Sherlock suddenly marched from where he stood, over to the head table. He placed his palms firmly on the table, making the newlyweds jump at his surprise presence.

"Goodness, Holmes, are you all right?" John asked, looking up at him with a frown.

"No," he said quickly. "I am not. Forgive me, Mrs. Watson, but I must borrow your new husband momentarily. There is an urgent matter that must be discussed."

John and Mary exchanged a look of concern, and then John placed a little kiss on his wife's cheek. "I'll be back in just a minute, my love."

"All right," Mary said with a smile as John got up, his hand slipping out of hers, and walked away with Sherlock.

Both men missed the look of fear in Mary's eyes as they walked away. Neither of them realized how terrified she was that the urgent matter…was her.

* * *

Sherlock led the way out onto the balcony of the ballroom and began pacing as John shut the door behind them. The music could still be heard through the glass doors and of course everyone could still see them. John was concerned about making a scene.

"Holmes, what is going on? Is there some sort of an emergency?"

Sherlock faced him, looking very serious. "There is, Watson, yes."

Horror washed over John's features. He turned his back to the glass doors and spoke to Sherlock while pointing a finger at him. "Well you'd better tell me what's going on right this moment, because this is my wedding day and I don't want one blasted thing ruining this night for Mary and I! So whatever it is, we need to fix it and fix it fast!" He looked awfully determined.

Sherlock drew a breath and let it out slowly before taking John by the shoulders and turning him to face the ballroom again. He pointed toward Molly who was now chatting with Mary and sipping some punch. "I think…I am falling in love with Molly Hooper."

John frowned as Sherlock spoke these words behind him. He turned slowly to face his friend again with a perplexed expression. And then Sherlock spoke again.

"What do I do, Watson? _What_ do I do?" he asked, looking desperate.

John sighed in both relief and exasperation. _This man…_ "Listen, Holmes, first of all what in God's name is wrong with you? You had me thinking there was a murderer on the loose at my wedding reception! And second, I see no emergency here. All I see is that you've finally opened your eyes and realized something that some of us saw long ago. Why are you still confused? If you finally understand that you're falling in love with her, then I'd say the next step should be fairly obvious."

Sherlock stared back at him, still appearing a bit frightened. "Watson, I…I couldn't possibly…"

"Yes you absolutely could!" John countered firmly. "Because the alternative will surely drive you mad, just as it would any man in your position. You are with her at least weekly and the two of you have become awfully familiar, especially of late. Most would argue that you are far _too_ familiar with each other! You cannot go on like that and keep silent." He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and spoke gently. "Now that you know, can you really imagine going on with your life exactly as it's been? Without her in it?"

Sherlock looked away from John and back into the ballroom as he answered his friend softly. "No. I can't."

John nodded. "Then I don't believe I need to tell you what to do." He gave Sherlock a warm smile.

The corner of Sherlock's lips twitched upward as well, and his face brightened a little. "I suppose I do," he whispered. Then he looked back at John. "Though, I fear I may need to begin with an apology."

John blew out a puff of air with his eyes wide. "An apology with a fair amount of groveling might do the trick, and you'd better be sincere. She'll see through it if you give her one of your compulsory apologies! And are you sure you're completely clear on what happened? If you're not, you can talk to Mary. She heard all about it."

"Then I gather you did as well," Sherlock said, looking embarrassed. "And no, I think I'm all too clear on the gory details. It all came back to me earlier."

"If I had known you were off to her flat last night, I'd have stopped you," John said, shaking his head.

"You were in no condition to stop me! Don't fool yourself!" Sherlock said with a smirk.

John chucked. "Perhaps. But the fact remains that you were in no condition to go speak to her! I'd never seen you drink as you did last night! It was a bit shocking. Quite amusing…but shocking all the same."

Sherlock's lips twisted, holding in a smile. "Do you know what I was drinking to?" he asked playfully as John tilted his head in anticipation of the answer. "Remaining unmarried."

The two men both snorted out a laugh at the ridiculous situation. It served to release some steam as they had a good chuckle on the terrace, trying not to be so loud as to attract attention from the guests.

Finally John wiped a tear of mirth from his eyes and shook his head. "Well I should think you'd better get to it then. If you don't get a dance soon, surely you'll have to fight off the other eligible men that are here tonight."

"Yes...a dance," Sherlock whispered, mulling the idea over in his head and seeing the beauty of it. He smiled at John. "And perhaps you should return to your bride and reassure her that the building is not moments from collapsing."

"Heavens knows what she thought was happening!" John said with another chuckle. He gave Sherlock a pat on the arm. Then he opened the door, inclining his hand for Sherlock to go ahead.

With a look of determination on his face, Sherlock marched back into the ballroom...

* * *

"Sorry, darling," John said as he took a seat next to his wife. "Everything is perfectly all right, no need to worry." He gave her a warm smile.

Mary smiled in return and sighed in relief. "Oh, I'm so glad to hear it," she breathed out. "I thought perhaps you'd gotten some sort of…awful news." She tried to wait patiently for her pounding heartbeat to slow.

John laughed. "Oh no! Quite the opposite in fact."

"Really?" Mary asked, her face brightening as she leaned in to hear what John had to say. "Something good then?"

John nodded his head in the direction of Sherlock and nudged his wife. "Yes, I think there is about to be something _very good_. I do believe you'll be happy to hear all about it…"

* * *

As Sherlock took focused strides across the room, he watched Molly tug upward on the edge of the silky gloves at her elbow. She wasn't used to dressing like this, and it showed. Maybe not to everyone in the room, but he could tell. As he came nearer, her deep brown eyes caught his and registered the fact that he was making his way to her. It pained him to see the discomfort that was instantly evident in her face.

"Dr. Hooper," he said, inclining his head very slightly and reaching out his hand out.

Molly looked from his face to his hand and back again, and then very slowly placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around it and he lifted it to his lips while maintaining eye contact, making Molly's heart screech to a halt and then double time to catch up as he spoke again.

"I was wondering if you would perhaps do me the honor of the next dance."

Molly blinked and licked her lips, trying to formulate an answer that didn't involve stammering. "Yes, Mr. Holmes, that would be fine," she said softly, with a little nod.

 _I feel like I'm meeting her for the first time tonight,_ he thought. "Excellent." He gave her a half smile before glancing toward the head of the room. "It seems the musicians are preparing to begin. Shall we?" Sherlock offered his arm expectantly.

Molly took an obvious deep breath and wrapped her hand around his bicep to walk onto the dance floor. Sherlock led her out and she let go of his arm as he turned to face her. He slid one hand around her waist and offered his other to her, which she took. With her other hand, she took her skirt, holding it up and out of the way. Just as she did, the violinist began playing.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly.

For a split second, she wondered what he meant. There was something about the way he asked…

"I'm ready," she answered, meeting his eyes.

They began dancing and Molly immediately felt like she was in the presence of a completely new man. This man carried her along with the melody and looked into her eyes without his steps skipping in the way that her heart was. He must have seen her rather serious expression, because he gave her a little smile, lightening the mood.

"I thought perhaps we could talk," he said unexpectedly.

"Talk? While we're dancing?" Molly asked, and realized that she sounded like a fool.

"Mm," Sherlock hummed. "As you can see, it is possible to do both."

Molly cracked a smile. "And what exactly were you hoping to talk about?" She had her theories already.

His confident expression faltered at that point and some of his shame shone through. "Last night I…was…"

Despite Molly's anger the night before, she hated rehashing the whole scene. She jumped in, trying to smooth things over before he could come to subjects that would be especially embarrassing.

"Please, there's no need to explain," she said, attempting a relaxed smile. "I know you were very drunk." She lowered her voice a little, glancing around in hopes the other dancing couples couldn't hear them.

Sherlock nodded slowly, pressing his lips together. "I was, yes. But that doesn't remove the need for apology. I shouldn't have behaved as I did. I shouldn't have said…what I did."

Molly's eyes got a bit bigger as she realized what she hadn't before. "You…remember what you said?" She had been banking on the fact that he wouldn't. He seemed drunk enough that the whole business would be a complete blur. Though, this was Sherlock Holmes. She probably should have known better.

"I didn't immediately," he admitted. "But it all came back just this evening. Once the memories were unlocked, they all became…shockingly clear."

She shook her head and smiled again. "Apology accepted, Mr. Holmes. I appreciate the gesture. I know you didn't mean anything you said. It was just silly drunken babbling," she said with a good-natured laugh. But the moment Molly said that, she realized that he was hesitant to respond and conspicuously avoiding eye contact.

Her mouth formed a little O, though she managed to avoid an audible gasp. "Wait, you…you mean to tell me that you actually do think that I…"

As the music began to swell, Sherlock was horrified to see tears of embarrassment fill her eyes and her face turn red as she tried to hold them back. She pressed her lips together…the lips he so badly wanted to soothe and comfort. How had he let this fall off course?

"Dr. Hooper, please understand. I didn't mean _everything_ I said," he said, quickly trying to smooth things again. "Of course I do not actually believe that it's acceptable to presume upon your kindness and assistance because of anything you…" He swallowed before finishing the sentence cautiously. "Feel."

Molly momentarily grimaced at the word, more mortified than words could express. It wasn't so much that she never wanted him to know how she truly felt about him, but she certainly didn't want it to come out like this. For better or worse though, she was well aware that this was the point of no return.

"Mr. Holmes, if I had known you were so aware of…I hardly know what to say." She couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"It's all right, Dr. Hooper," he said, a smile creeping back to his lips. _Oh it's more than all right._

"But it's not really all right, is it?" she said, peering up at him self-consciously. "I know that you don't…" Molly looked away again, unable to say exactly what she thought she knew.

Sherlock looked over at the musicians as he realized that the song was slowing. He looked back down at Molly, feeling that he'd wasted much of this dance. He'd done nothing but manage to apologize, in addition to unfortunately embarrassing her. There was so much left to say.

"Just in time perhaps," she said with a shy smile. It was obvious she felt uncomfortable with where this conversation was headed.

"Dr. Hooper," he began gently as they let go of each other and exited the dance floor.

"Mr. Holmes, I believe I need a bit of fresh air to catch my breath. I couldn't quite escape the restrictions of a corset in a dress like this one, so if you'll please excuse me," she said quickly, and then made her way to the glass doors which would provide her escape.

Sherlock wasted no time, as he knew he'd wasted plenty already. He had just reached the doors himself as Molly had stepped out onto the grass. She was heading in the direction of a gazebo a few meters behind the building.

"Dr. Hooper!" Sherlock called as he caught up to her.

Molly whirled around right before stepping into the little wooden structure. "You didn't need to follow me," she said, her tone conveying some disappointment. "In truth, I think I'd rather be alone." She leaned one hand against the railing and pressed the other against her middle as she fought to take as deep a breath of cool air as her undergarments would allow.

Sherlock was undeterred. He stepped under the gazebo as well and leaned on one of the supporting poles nearby where she stood. "Somehow I have a difficult time believing that."

Molly turned toward him and looked hurt. "Is that supposed to be a joke? Are you still poking fun at the idea that I'd want to be with you?!" She sucked in another deep breath and turned away from him.

Sherlock sighed, but not in irritation with her. He realized that she wasn't getting this, but that it was hardly her fault. He needed to be much clearer.

"No, this is not a joke," he said firmly, stepping closer to her. "I may have behaved like a fool last night, but that was nothing but the drink talking. I swear it! I do not think that your feelings for me are anything to poke fun at or take advantage of. I had hoped I made that clear just now."

She looked at him hesitantly. "Forgive me, I just...I can't imagine that you take feelings of that sort seriously."

Sherlock pressed his lips together and gripped the railing a little harder for a moment. He forced his mouth opened. "Perhaps, Dr. Hooper, the problem is that we are talking entirely too much about _your_ feelings."

Molly frowned at him and let out a little chuckle. "Yes, I'm sure you are eager to change the subject."

"Mm, you're not entirely correct," he said slyly, taking yet another step closer, which she definitely noticed this time. "I have no wish to change the subject. But I would like you to consider a different bit of evidence."

"W-what you mean?" she stammered softly, looking up at him and processing how very close he was actually standing to her.

"Me," he said simply, raising an expressive brow.

"You?" she repeated, needing clarification.

"Yes, me. Have you considered my feelings on the matter?" he asked, looking down at her and scanning her face meticulously.

Molly began to blush again and her expression fell. "Well of course I have. I've thought about how much I enjoy working with you, and I should like to think that we've become friends. Those things are important to me; more than anything that can never be between us! I'd never want to change that and make things difficult. I don't want you to feel that this is difficult now."

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head before looking right into her eyes. "No, Dr. Hooper," he said softly, surprising her with his tone. "Have you considered my feelings… _for you_."

She stared back at him, lips parted and brow furrowed as she considered the implication of his words. "But-" She stopped as soon as she started, needing to think about her response more clearly. "Mr. Holmes, I have. I thought you'd made your feelings, or the lack of them, clear enough. That was my concern."

One half of Sherlock's lips lifted in an amused smile as he looked down. "The strange thing is that I had the very same concern not long ago."

Molly's heart did a flip as he laid his hand over hers on the railing. His eyes met hers as he opened his mouth to speak again, igniting them like one flaming match lights another.

He spoke slowly and deliberately. "That is not a concern any longer."

Molly could only stare up at him in shock. He smiled back at her, appearing surprisingly at ease. "You- you mean that you really…why are you telling me this?"

Sherlock reached up with his other hand and cradled her face, making her eyes flutter shut for a moment. The sounds of his voice made her eyes open again to focus on him. "Because it's not enough. The work, the cases, the post-mortems, and even the friendship…it's clear to me now, all of that will not be enough for me."

Joy finally began to flood Molly's heart, the walls blocking off unreachable desires broken and shoved aside. Her own smile finally grew as she slid her still gloved hand over his that covered her cheek. "What would be enough for you?" she whispered, finally sure that she wanted to hear his answer.

Sherlock took what appeared to be a slightly shaky breath and leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers. His reply was a whisper as well, but the message his one word answer conveyed was so loud and clear that it drowned out the pounding heartbeat in her ears.

"You."

Molly's reaction was not at all planned. She heard his answer, as well as feeling his warm breath as he spoke it, and it was so natural and instinctive for her to simply lean upward and catch the lips that spoke so near to her own. She surprised herself, as well as Sherlock, so the kiss was rather brief. She pulled away almost as soon as she'd done it, laughing a little and blushing.

Molly shrugged, still giggling. "I suppose that was my answer…you can have me."

Sherlock grinned using both hands now to cradle her face. But suddenly his smile clouded over with a look of concern.

"What is it?" she asked gently.

"I- I've never done this before. I've never even wanted to try before," he said nervously. "What I'm saying is that, I do want this and I want you…but you'll forgive me if I haven't the faintest idea of what to do now that I've got you."

Molly laughed and also even felt some tears spring to her eyes. "I told you that you have me now. That means you don't need to have all the answers yourself." She took his hands from her face and held them in her own. "You don't have to know right this moment. We can work it out together."

Sherlock blinked, staring at her face and especially her lips as she spoke. She always managed to say exactly what he needed to hear. And thinking that, he suddenly realized that he hadn't actually _said it_. "Molly, I believe I'm in love with you," he said rather seriously.

Tears did break free from her eyes at the sound of those words. She pressed her hand over her mouth for a moment and tried to catch her breath. Molly sniffled a bit and then met his eyes again. "I'm in love with you too; have been for a rather long time now," she replied in a shaky voice.

Sherlock reached up and wiped the tears off her cheeks with a little smile on his lips. "I still might not know what to do tomorrow, or next week, or next month. But as for this moment…I do believe you had the right idea a minute ago." He stopped wiping away her tears and instead brushed her slightly parted lips with his thumb, recalling the identical move she made in that dream he'd had.

But it was nothing like that dream when he leaned down and slowly pressed his lips to hers. This was real. This was what it really felt like to kiss Molly Hooper, and he could certainly feel it. Nothing about the experience was numb or muted. He could taste and feel the way her mouth moved with his. He could feel the satin fabric on her waist with one hand as he felt the velvety skin of her face with the other. And he felt it intensely when her slender fingers buried themselves in the short hair on the back of his head. It was an explosion of his senses. And although he was unfamiliar with much of this world he had just stepped into, he did instantly know that this was exactly how it should be.

Sherlock and Molly discreetly rejoined the wedding reception a few minutes later of course. And when they did, the doctor's hand stayed tightly and affectionately looped around the detective's arm. The rest of the evening went as smoothly as could be. There was music and more dancing and nothing but joy for the newlyweds and the rest of the party.

After a night like that, it certainly would have come as a shocking surprise to the two happy couples…had they known what sort of storms were coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally give you all permission to harass me if I don't post the last few chapters by Friday lol! Apparently I'm senile and need reminders! ;D


	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock adjusted his neck tie and hat as he got out of the carriage and headed into Bart's hospital. It was interesting, this new experience of the past few weeks. He was quite enjoying the relationship that he and Dr. Hooper had embarked on, and was confident she felt the same. Every trip to Bart's was just that much more enjoyable since the infamous night of the Watson's wedding.

John had taken to teasing him a bit though. According to John, precious little had changed. Sherlock had begun pressing a lingering kiss to Molly's cheek each time they'd depart from the hospital, and was certainly less reserved with his adoring glances, but had actually done little else in the way of furthering their relationship. Sherlock, of course argued to John that Molly seemed perfectly satisfied as things were, so he saw no need to take any other sort of action at the moment.

The truth was that Sherlock was actually a little out of his depth. As he'd made very clear to Molly on that night of true love's declaration, he really didn't know how to proceed from here. Although he was courting Molly Hooper...he didn't really know _how_ to court her. It would never occur to Sherlock to do things like invite her to dinner, send flowers, buy gifts, or write romantic poetry. So he simply continued doing the things they always did, and just sprinkled in some expressions of affection. It seemed...adequate to him.

Today, Sherlock was paying a visit to Bart's morgue because of a recent death...one which he'd caused.

Sherlock and John walked in just as Molly was pulling down the sheet from this mystery man's face and filling Lestrade in on the details she'd picked up thus far. She looked up briefly to give him a sweet little smile.

"I didn't find any absolutely solid identification on him myself. The most telling thing he had on him was his initials." Molly handed a handkerchief over to the Inspector and Sherlock joined him to examine it.

"S.M." Lestrade read aloud. "But that could really be anybody's."

"I don't think so, Inspector," Molly went on. "You see, that's not the only place that S.M. shows up. It's also in the collar of his shirt and jacket. And also inside his shoes. Rather conclusive, I should say." She enjoyed an impressed little smile from Sherlock.

"Yes, it would seem so," Lestrade agreed. He turned to Sherlock. "And I have your word that this man raised his gun to you?"

"Yes, just as I said," Sherlock confirmed.

"This man was about to fire," John chimed in. "If Sherlock hadn't been so quick...well I would rather not say what the outcome could have been," he said, giving Molly an apologetic smile for even alluding to such a thing.

"Right, well I'll begin making inquiries. I feel sure you'll let me know if you uncover anything," Lestrade said to John and Sherlock.

"Indeed, Inspector," Sherlock agreed with a nod.

Lestrade took his leave, and the three of them were left alone in silence for a moment. John looked back and forth between the two people who were making very conspicuously intense eye contact. He sighed and chuckled a little.

"Perhaps I'll just wait outside for a bit," John offered. "Holmes, you can join me...when you're ready."

"Good afternoon, Dr. Watson," Molly made sure to politely call after him before returning her gaze to meet Sherlock's, who was currently making his way around the table to be nearer to her. "Hello," she said softly, looking up at him through her lashes and offering him the sort of greeting more specially reserved for his eyes and ears only.

"Hello," Sherlock echoed deeply. He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers in a feathery kiss.

"Mm," Molly hummed in appreciation as he pulled away and kept her eyes closed for just a moment before looking at him again. "I did miss you the past few days. It seems you've been hard at work, though."

"Yes, that I have," Sherlock agreed. "It took us quite a while to track down the people who were stealing and selling those body parts. They were awfully well organized and efficient." He glanced at the dead man beside them. "Up till the end, at least."

"I'm glad it's over now," Molly said softly, reaching out and taking gentle hold of his hand.

Just then, the morgue doors opened and Mr. Richards came walking in.

Molly instantly let go of Sherlock's hand and jumped back a step. "Mr. Richards, good afternoon," she said with a careful smile.

The man smirked at Sherlock and Molly. "Oh no need to put on pretenses now, I should say," he said haughtily. "Word has long since gotten around that Mr. Holmes has finally admitted to the true nature of his interest in you."

Sherlock clenched his jaw so hard he thought teeth might crack. "Not that it concerns you at all, Mr. Richards," he said, keeping his tone in check with much difficulty. "Seeing as it has nothing to do with her employment here at Bart's Hospital."

Mr. Richards chuckled. "I should imagine it does! It is, after all, in my best interest to know as soon as possible when I may be searching for a replacement. What respectable woman continues her employment anywhere, once she's married?" He laughed a little more as if it were the silliest thing he'd heard all day.

Molly looked up at Sherlock nervously and saw him pressing his lips together tightly. She could tell he was having a horrible time holding back, but was likely doing so for her benefit. Best to get rid of her boss as soon as possible.

"Were you looking for those reports, Mr. Richards?" Molly asked sweetly, effectively changing the subject.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, yes indeed I was. Do please have those on my desk in less than an hour." Mr. Richards gave her a curt nod and left the room before any more damage could be done.

Sherlock huffed out a sigh. "The nerve," he growled.

"I know, I know," Molly said, caressing his cheek and trying to pacify him. "Just forget about it though, don't let it trouble you."

"How dare he even suggest such a thing?! As if there's any reason for him to assume that would ever happen!" Sherlock thundered, clearly unable to shake the irritating man's words from his head.

It was Sherlock's words that stopped Molly in her tracks. She suddenly wondered what he really meant by that. She let her hand fall away from his face and looked away, feeling a sudden self-consciousness that she'd not felt since before he'd proclaimed his love for her. It had been a lovely past few weeks, and she felt like she was on a cloud every time they were together. But how did he feel now? She began to fret...what did he really want at the end of the day?

"Well he...doesn't know us," Molly said quietly. "It certainly isn't his place to say where we are headed. Or if we're...headed anywhere at all."

Sherlock looked at her and frowned. "What?"

She swallowed hard. "It's all right, Sherlock," she said dismissively. "Nothing need be discussed now. I- I would never want you to feel that I assume that we'd...that is to say...you're not obligated to..." Molly paused, pressing her lips together and finding she didn't know how to go on and put the rest into words.

Sherlock tilted his head as he listened to her, realizing the breach in communication that had just taken place.

"Molly," he said firmly, looking into her nervous gaze. "I was referring to you ending your employment at Bart's. I was _not_ referring to marriage."

"Oh," Molly breathed out, feeling relief wash over her. She blushed and pushed a strand of hair from her face. "Well I still meant what I said. I'm certainly not assuming that you want to marry me."

Sherlock frowned, first off into the open air, and then back at her. "But I do," he said almost in an incredulous tone. "Molly, I do want to marry you."

Molly was taken aback by his confession, but also found his expression to be a bit amusing. "And that…surprises you too?" she asked with a little smile.

"No- well, yes." Sherlock shook his head. "I suppose I may have known it deep down but…I hadn't really admitted it consciously." There was a sudden fire burning in his icy eyes as he reached down and took both her little hands into his and held them fast against his chest.

"Sherlock," she whispered. "Your heart is pounding."

"I know," he agreed with a smile. "That's because I'm going to ask you something."

Molly's eyes began to widen instantly.

"Molly Hooper, would you consider…marrying me?" he asked, looking steadily at her as she continued to feel his heart thumping beneath her palm.

Her jaw dropped and she had to force it closed again. She wasn't expecting this to happen...now! Though that didn't change the fact that she already knew what her answer would be.

Molly flipped her hands so that they grasped his. She pulled them over and laid them over her heart, just as he'd done with her, and grinned at him as she did. "Perhaps this already gives you a bit of a clue," she said with a glimmer in her eyes. "But...yes, Sherlock."

"Yes?" he asked, somehow unsure he'd just heard her correctly.

"Yes," she repeated. "Yes, Sherlock, I want to marry you. I hardly need time to consider a question like that."

Sherlock grinned as he dove forward to give her a much more enthusiastic kiss than the one a few minutes before. He pulled back and grinned at her once again. "Marvelous!" he exclaimed. "Now...what do you say to this evening?"

Molly wondered at the sudden change of subject. "Oh, um...pardon? What about this evening?"

Sherlock frowned, as if he too were confused. "Marriage, wedding, becoming husband and wife...I thought we both just agreed that was appealing. If this evening is inconvenient though, we could certainly hold off till this weekend." He looked at her, wearing a dead serious expression.

Molly sputtered out a little laugh. "W-what? You were asking me to marry you...this evening?!"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Well...why ever not? It's what we both want. Neither of us is the kind to insist on some grand affair that requires months of planning. In fact, I would venture to say that it would be in both of our best interests to completely avoid anything even remotely close to that. Such a disruption of our lives and our work." He paused and looked suddenly uneasy. "Or, have I perhaps misread you?"

Molly was then the one to pause in thought. At first, she thought that what came out of his mouth was the most ridiculous idea she'd ever heard. But then, as she let it sink in...how very fitting she realized it was. Despite the fact that she considered herself to be a romantic, that didn't mean that everything had to involve a grand romantic _display._ What did she need with all that fuss? When all she really wanted was to simply...become Molly Holmes.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she looked into Sherlock's eyes again. She smiled and tightened her grip on his hands as she spoke softly. "You know, I can't think of anything I'd rather do this evening than become your wife."

Sherlock's lips spread in a smile again and he was about to lean down and press a kiss to her lips once more, but the morgue door opened and John burst through.

"Holmes, honestly- forgive me, Dr. Hooper," John added before going on. "Holmes, I've taken a stroll around the entire building twice! Are you at all aware that I'm still here waiting?!"

Sherlock completely ignored his friend's irritation and instead smiled brightly. "Ah, Watson! How fortunate that you should pop in at this very moment!" he said happily. "Tell me, would you and your lovely wife be available to accompany Dr. Hooper and I to the courthouse this evening?"

John blinked a few times and shifted his feet. "Sorry...what?"

* * *

"That tickles," Molly muttered sleepily. "Stop! That tickles!" she repeated with an accompanying giggle.

"I told you, Mrs. Holmes, it's only right that I commit every little detail to memory," Sherlock said, in a mock serious tone. "You never can tell what will be useful in my line of work. It is a _terribly_ tedious and painful job, but I do what I must! I would have done so before, but the nature of woman's fashion does make such a thing near impossible...when one is clothed." He leaned in and placed a couple kisses along her collar bone where he'd been tracing his finger.

Molly rolled over and glanced behind Sherlock at the sun peeking in through the drapes. She yawned and flopped back down on the pillow as she looked back up at him, biting her lip for a moment. "I never want to get out of bed again. I wonder how many days I can manage to stay away from the hospital before Mr. Richards sends me packing!"

"Not to worry," Sherlock responded, completely unconcerned. "This is only the second day you've been out. You're certainly just as entitled to a honeymoon as anyone else who gets married. Besides, Mr. Richards has little or no say in whether you continue to be employed at Bart's hospital. My brother can make sure that his old fashioned ways do not interfere with your career. I won't have my wife pushed out of a job...simply for being my wife!"

Molly grasped his face and kissed him rather forcefully. Her arms held him tight as her fingers blissfully threaded through his usually pristine hair, which she now found she quite enjoyed seeing a bit ruffled up. She pulled away and enjoyed the slightly dazed look on her new husband's brilliant face. "I still can't believe we're married. Two days ago I woke up alone in my own flat and was hoping that we'd perchance get a glimpse of each other while I was working.

And now..." Molly giggled lightly and her cheeks turned pink as she glanced at the both of them, entangled together and clothed in nothing but bed linens.

Sherlock gave her a crooked smirk. "And now," he repeated softly, leaning in to kiss her very slowly and deliberately.

"Now," Molly whispered when he pulled away. "I think I've never been so sublimely happy in all my life."

Sherlock's expression turned serious and he swallowed hard.

"What is it?" Molly asked, seeing the change that had washed over his features.

"I-" he faltered and paused. "I never knew..."

"Never knew what?"

"I never knew I could do that." He looked endearingly hesitant and self-conscious for a moment; a rare sight from the confident and charismatic man. "Make someone that happy," he said in a whisper.

Molly didn't speak, mostly because she thought it possible she just might cry, and instead pulled him close to kiss him once again, which he all too eagerly reciprocated. Words were quickly forgotten, as their lips were far too busy anyway.

As he securely cradled his wife in his arms, Sherlock couldn't help but think that he certainly agreed with her. He'd never known that a happiness like this truly existed; this sort of heavenly euphoria which was subject to neither time nor reason, and which easily made mincemeat out of both. The only necessary puzzle pieces were himself and Molly. And with those two pieces…suddenly his world was whole. One little thing certainly wasn't a mystery anymore, he thought with an inward chuckle.

He completely and profoundly understood the phrase, _wedded bliss._

* * *

"Oh, thank you so much," Molly said sincerely to the man who handed her a box containing the little pictures of her father.

Sherlock calmly sipped his tea and looked on as a few more boxes were carted into 221B. His gang of irregulars had insisted on handling the moving of Molly's belongings. Wiggins said it would be a sort of wedding present, the only sort that many of those friends of Sherlock could afford. Given that fact, he gladly accepted. And of course Molly made sure to have some dinner and goodies prepared to offer them afterward.

Sherlock helped move a small trunk into their bedroom and Molly immediately set about hanging some of the garments so they wouldn't become a complete mess. As she unfolded and spread out the yellow gown on the bed, Sherlock came up behind her and wrapped strong arms around her waist.

"You quite took my breath away in that gown," he whispered in her ear.

Molly giggled and turned her head to kiss his nose. "I confess, I had certainly hoped to!" She sighed, feeling the luxurious fabric with her hands. "It's mostly thanks to Anthea, really. Her seamstress made it fit like an absolute glove!"

Sherlock frowned as Molly pulled away and went to carefully hang it in the wardrobe. "How would you know Anthea?"

"Oh, you know her as well?" Molly asked casually. "Well naturally I met her through Mary, since they're such close friends."

As Molly worked carefully on her clothing, Sherlock continued trying to process this strange information. "A friend of Mary's," he repeated, mostly to himself.

"Yes," Molly agreed. "She was ever so kind before their wedding. I saw her one day at Mary's flat, helping with the wedding plans, and she offered to have me take my dress to such a lovely woman to be properly sized. And at no charge!"

"And," Sherlock asked slowly. "How does Mary know her?"

Molly shrugged as she picked up another garment. "Just a personal friend."

Molly didn't see the way her husband's face fell and his heart sank as he put the pieces together, even though he didn't really want to. His brother's mysterious interest in and assistance with the Watson's wedding, Mary's unusually sharpened perception and interests, and now her apparently close 'personal friend' Anthea. How had he not picked up on some of those signs, and more, before this? There weren't many times in his life that Sherlock Holmes wished he didn't know something, or wished he could simply cover a mystery right back up after skillfully uncovering it. But this…

This was one of those times.


	14. Chapter 14

For the next fortnight, Sherlock spent every moment of thought that he could spare on John and Mary. Not only did he go over every bit of evidence as to why his theory on Mary was likely correct, he also agonized over how to handle it. Certainly, it was unusual for Sherlock to care so deeply about the reveal of a discovery...but this was no ordinary discovery.

These were his friends.

He said nothing to Molly, not wanting to worry her over this strange secret for now, and especially at a time like this. She was so happy...they were so happy. In fact, the joy in his own personal life also served to magnify the gravity of the situation with John and Mary. Because there were no two people, beyond himself and Molly, that he so badly wanted to see happy. He wanted them to have what he and Molly had, and more importantly, he didn't want them to lose it.

"Darling, I told you, you really can't leave your coat on the chair anymore," Molly said as she shoved Toby off the garment and picked it up, hanging it by the door. "At least if you hope to avoid getting a lovely layer of cat hair on it!"

Toby was less than pleased. He growled as Molly made him get on the floor. He'd have to search for another acceptable resting place now. It was such a chore, this being in a new location. There were far too many fabulous napping areas that seemed to be off limits, at least according to the very large new cat that his mistress now owned...

"He doesn't own the chair!" Sherlock said with a sigh as he dropped a cube of sugar into his tea cup.

Molly came over and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Perhaps you can have a conversation with him and make sure he's aware of that," she said with a giggle. But then she stopped and looked at her husband's face more closely. "Where are you? Thinking of a case?" she asked softly.

"In a way, yes," he answered, and then leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead and give her a smile. He slid her tea cup over and poured the hot liquid in, deciding to continue avoiding the actual topic at hand. "Wiggins informed me yesterday that some of his associates are sure of that man's name now; the man I shot."

"Oh?" Molly asked, dropping a lemon slice into her tea cup.

"His name was Sebastian Moran. I already suspected as much, but apparently he worked closely with Professor Moriarty. So it's likely that's who was truly behind the string of body part thefts. Not surprising, seeing as it was quite a well thought out crime." Sherlock sipped his tea. "I'm planning to pay a visit to Scotland Yard this morning and share the news with Inspector Lestrade. "

Molly got quiet and chewed her lip for a moment. "So, Professor Moriarty…he's still about in the city, is he?"

"He may not be," Sherlock said with a casual shrug. "Difficult to say, since he seems to have such a vast array of employees. Plenty of minions to do his bidding even when he's nowhere nearby. In fact, it seems that's exactly how he prefers it."

Molly said nothing and slowly stirred the lemon slice around in her tea cup, watching the shiny yellow fruit bob up and down.

Sherlock noticed his wife's deafening silence. He set his tea down and took the spoon from her hand, turning her to face him. "Molly, stop worrying," he said firmly.

Molly sighed. "You can't ask me not to worry when there are people out there who want you dead. They'll really and truly kill you if they have the chance, and I can't imagine how I'll ever sleep at night for even a moment if your arms aren't wrapped around me."

Sherlock looked a little deflated, despite the fact that he'd just asked her to stop worrying. He was no fool. And he knew that her concerns were unfortunately well founded. He put on a small smile and tried to lighten the mood.

"Don't you trust that I'm far more clever than all those criminals?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Molly couldn't help but smile back at him. "You are certainly have more self-confidence than them, I feel sure of at least that." She leaned forward and kissed his waiting lips before resting her cheek on his chest and listening to his heart softly thumping. "Just promise me you'll always be careful."

"Always," he said very softly.

"Well," Molly said, lifting her head from his chest and smiling warmly. "I've got to get to the hospital. Will I see you today?"

"I doubt I'll be by the hospital today, but I should be here when you get back this evening."

"Good." She smiled and gave him one more kiss.

Sherlock watched as Molly left the flat a few minutes later, and he sat quietly by the fireplace, thinking and thinking. He did need to drop by Scotland Yard, just as he'd told Molly. But there was something else he thought he might just attempt as well...

* * *

Sherlock watched the buildings and people go by as he rode along in the carriage. He'd done what was needed and Lestrade was going to go about tracking down whatever family could be found of Sebastian Moran. It was possible they were already searching for him, depending on how close by they lived.

But now that he was done with that errand, Sherlock was making his way to a different part of town. It was time to pay a visit to the Watson's flat. Sherlock knew that Mary would be at the newspaper by this time of day, and he also knew that John was volunteering at a nearby clinic. That made it the perfect time to stop by and visit. Not the Watson's...just their flat.

Sherlock easily picked the lock to their door once he arrived, and made a mental note to tell John he should have a much more reliable bolt on the door. He opened the door cautiously, checking to make sure that it was both dark and quiet. It seemed all clear, so Sherlock went in, shutting the door behind him. And then began his search.

He crept over and saw nicely organized books and papers in the letter desk by the window. He took a very brief glance, also opening the desk drawers, but he knew this was an unlikely location. Someone like Mary Watson would know enough not to hide evidence right in the open like that. He looked around the room, scanning everything for possible options. He stepped carefully all over the floor, checking for loose floorboards. Finally, his eyes fell on the brick wall which also house the fireplace. He walked over and examined the wall more carefully, then ran his fingertips along each row of brick, feeling for a bit of give. And finally...

"Ah," Sherlock breathed out and smiled to himself as he found just such a brick beneath his fingertips. He carefully worked it and wiggled its edges till finally it came free from the other bricks around it. And then low and behold! Sherlock reached in and picked out some carefully folded notes and letters. He was holding them up to the light that peeked in through the curtains and had just made out the fact that they all seemed to be either addressed to or from Mycroft when-

The light suddenly flipped on and Sherlock whirled around to see Mary standing in the doorway, wide eyed and in her dressing gown. Both of them now stared at each other in shock.

"Y-you aren't at the newspaper," Sherlock croaked out, knowing it was a stupidly obvious thing to say.

"That's right," Mary said evenly. "I'm not feeling well today." She stared at him and her eyes kept darting to the papers he held in his hand. She advanced a few steps and then stopped again, reaching out her own hand. "Mr. Holmes...give me those, please."

Sherlock swallowed hard and then looked back at what he held. He spoke to her as he flipped through the small notes. "Mrs. Watson, I hold in my hand evidence of some sort. Either I am correct, and you are an employee of my brother...or you two are engaged in some sort of indiscretion." He looked up at her and smiled. "I think we both know which is more likely."

Mary began to look a bit more panicky. "Mr. Holmes, please. Do you trust that I love John?"

"I do, yes," Sherlock answered honestly.

"Then please trust me that I'd never hurt him. What I've done, I've done to protect him. You understand about protecting people, surely," she said, her voice shaking just a bit. "Sometimes you can't share everything, even with the people you love. It might be for their own good."

Sherlock exhaled slowly. "But perhaps that should be for John to decide."

"Mr. Holmes, please!" Mary begged. "I can't let you tell him...at least, not yet."

Sherlock looked into her eyes and had a twinge of pity. She truly seemed to believe she was doing the right thing, the best thing. And perhaps she was right. It was difficult for him to say in that moment. The truth was that he only came to the flat today to prove things to _himself._ Whether John Watson learned the truth about his wife hadn't yet been something he'd decided on yet.

"So," Sherlock went on, not directly addressing her concerns. "You specialize in domestic surveillance."

Mary simply stared back at him, giving him his silent answer.

Sherlock nodded. "I hope you realize that you do have my utmost professional respect...despite the fact that you work for Mycroft." He couldn't help smirking.

Mary was hardly amused and still far too nervous to appreciate a joke.

"But I also cannot allow my friend to continue in the dark," Sherlock went on. "Not forever."

Mary shook her head slowly. "Just give me a bit more time, please. If John finds out, it should be because I tell him. Surely you can understand that."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "I suppose it is possible that even the news of you being an intelligence agent may become more palatable to him when coming from your lips."

"What?"

Both Sherlock and Mary's heads whirled to the door when they heard the exclamation, neither of them even having noticed that someone else had entered the room. But there he was. There was John Watson, standing there holding a bouquet of flowers and looking like he'd just seen a ghost.

"John," Mary breathed out.

John advanced slowly into the room, looking back and forth between his wife and best friend. He finally looked squarely at Sherlock and spoke in a carefully controlled voice. "Holmes, what exactly...is going on here? And why, in God's name, would you have just called my wife an…intelligence agent?"

Sherlock stared back at him, unsure of what to say. A moment before, he'd been prepared to give Mary time, simply out of the goodness of his heart. But as he looked around the room at the current situation, it was clear that was not how things would be able to go now.

"Watson," Sherlock began slowly. "I think perhaps that this question is not for me to answer."

John turned from Sherlock and looked at his wife's stricken face. "What is going on, Mary?" he demanded. "Can you please tell me that Holmes has gone mad!"

Mary licked her lips, paused, and then crossed the room to take the papers from Sherlock's hand. She walked over to John with a heavy heart and placed them in his palm, and then she stepped back.

John looked from the papers to his wife and then back again. "What is this? These are from Mycroft," he stated softly.

"Yes," she said bravely. "They are from Mycroft to me...because I work for Mycroft Holmes."

John blinked and frowned. "Y-you work for the newspaper."

Mary nodded. "Indeed, I do. But I work there for the benefit of the British government. _That_ is my real job, and I report directly to Mycroft Holmes."

John stared at Mary, agape. He turned to Sherlock who was looking on silently. He tried a couple times to open his mouth, but no real words came out. He simply shook his head and looked again at the notes in his hand. Finally, he turned his eyes to his wife again, and this time, they were on fire.

"You...lied to me," he said in a low voice.

Mary took one step forward and then stopped, sadly recognizing her husband's body language. "John, I simply couldn't tell you everything." He huffed and shook his head as Mary went on. "It wasn't an option for me!"

"There is _always_ an option!" John said, his voice rising. "Always!"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "May I just say-"

"No you may not!" John thundered. "The fact that you are here now suggests that you at least suspected this before you came here today. And I don't appreciate that either of you kept anything from me up till now!" He looked back at Mary. "Why, Mary? You could have trusted me!"

"It's not about trust, John! It's about being both responsible and professional!" she argued back.

John pursed his lips, chuckling bitterly. "Responsible and professional? I see. Well that sounds awfully cold, especially when it comes to me...your husband!"

Sherlock tried again to cut in. "If you think logically, there is a genuine aspect of safety involved when you consider-"

John pointed at Sherlock with a look that could kill. "If you have any care for safety, you will keep your mouth shut, Holmes!"

"John," Mary began again. "Anyone who is aware of the work I do for the government not only increases the chances that I'll be discovered, but is also putting themselves at risk. Why would I want to do that to you? Of all people! You, my husband!"

"I'm not just your husband anymore," John said in a heated whisper.

Sherlock frowned at those words and looked back and forth between the two people.

"Why, Mary?" John continued in a broken voice. "Why did it have to be now? Just when- hm…" He stopped, pressing his lips together.

Sherlock observed the two carefully and thought about what sort of scene he'd walked into on this day. Mary…home from the newspaper and not feeling well. John…coming home early with a bouquet of flowers. Ah, so obvious…

"Mary is with child," Sherlock stated softly, making the Watsons both look at him. Neither of them contradicted him, which gave him all the answer he needed.

"I can't- I- I can't be here at the moment, forgive me," John stuttered and simply dropped the flowers on the floor before turning and exiting the flat.

"John, please," Mary pleaded, unable to raise her voice above a whisper because it was breaking. She stood there trying to silently gulp back tears for a moment before walking over to retrieve the bouquet of tulips from the floor. She gave them a little token sniff and looked at Sherlock with a shaky little smile. "These are my favorite."

Sherlock's gaze slowly turned away and he stared at the floor for a moment, realizing what a mess he'd just created. He looked back at her and gave her a stoic nod, trying to speak in a comforting and confident tone. "I'll find him. I'll make sure he comes home."

Mary shook her head solemnly. "But can you make him trust me again? That may be a problem too great for even you, Mr. Holmes." She didn't wait to see him leave or even to say anything else. She simply went back down the hall the way she had come, leaving Sherlock alone in the sitting room again.

He didn't linger. Sherlock instantly left the flat and stepped outside onto the street, looking in each direction till he spotted the familiar hat making its way around the corner. Sherlock jogged briskly, getting enough speed to quickly catch up to John.

"Watson!" Sherlock called out as he neared. "Watson!"

John turned and faced him, almost causing a collision in the process. "When did you find out, hm? When?" he demanded.

"Suspected, Watson," Sherlock clarified. "I suspected a couple of weeks ago, but it was only today that I obtained the proof. And obviously I had thought the both of you would be out of the flat!"

"I cannot believe this," John muttered, rubbing his face with his hands. "I thought I knew her, and I fell in love with her, and I married her!" he yelled, making passersby glance conspicuously.

"You did know her," Sherlock said, keeping his voice controlled. "And you married her anyway."

"I did not know this!" John said angrily at Sherlock.

Sherlock paused and took a breath. "Go home, Watson."

"How can I? I feel as if I'm suddenly living with a stranger!"

"She may feel the same way after today," Sherlock said with a sniff.

"I beg your pardon?" John growled. "Care to explain that comment?"

"You told her you love her!" Sherlock said more forcefully, leaning in. "You married her and promised a life with her, for better or worse. Was that a lie, hm? I'm sure she's beginning to wonder right about now!"

John stared back at him...in anger, in horror, in guilt...Sherlock wasn't sure.

"This is not my fault," John finally said, shaking his head. "And I refuse to pretend that this is all right. My own wife lied to me about who she really is and how she really spends her days. Yes, I will go home...but this is nowhere near over and done with."

As John walked past Sherlock, back in the direction of his flat, Sherlock turned and called to him as he went, "I believe you can trust her, Watson."

John turned and looked truly weary as he answered. "On the contrary, Holmes...I'm beginning to believe I cannot trust anyone." He turned again and continued walking, quickly disappearing from Sherlock's sight.

* * *

Sherlock unlocked the door to 221B and went in, knowing that Molly would likely be home by now. The prospect wasn't all that thrilling to him at the moment. He knew that seeing her would also mean...telling her. And he wasn't looking forward to that.

Sure enough, Molly came down the hall from the bedroom, having taken her jacket off and replaced it with a shawl over her blouse. As soon as he saw her, Sherlock found that the sight was comforting despite the things he didn't want to detail from today. He threw his hat and coat off, tossing them onto the hook by the door. He approached her as she was removing some of the pins in her hair and instantly reached out to touch her face, enjoying the familiar softness beneath his fingers.

"Hello," she said with a smile and leaned in to kiss his cheek. But the moment she pulled back and had a look at his expression, she knew he had some sort of news. "What is it?"

Sherlock took a breath and let it out slowly. "Come and sit, Molly," he suggested, gesturing toward the couch. "I have something to tell you."

"Should I be concerned?" Molly asked, though it was a silly question since her heart had already begun pounding just from the look in his eyes.

"For yourself, no," Sherlock answered as they took a seat. Then he took her hand and held it very tightly within his own as he gave her a somewhat somber look. "But for our friends, yes...there is cause for concern..."


	15. Chapter 15

Molly reached over and grasped Mary's hand as she saw her lip begin to quiver.

"Forgive me," Mary said, wiping at her eyes.

"Please, there's nothing to forgive!" Molly said firmly.

Mary laughed bitterly. "I believe my husband would disagree."

Molly gave Mary's hand another squeeze as she began to gently dive further in. "Has it been…very difficult these past two weeks?"

Mary shrugged. "I'm sure that some would argue that John is being terribly kind. He's not been yelling at me or bickering or pressing me for answers." She looked so tired as she shook her head slowly at Molly. "But I almost wish he'd do those things. He barely acknowledges me! We live under the same roof, but it's as if I live alone now. It's all awkwardness and silence and I can't bear it much longer! It is, in some ways, far worse than the outright anger."

"Just…try to give him time and be patient," Molly offered, trying to be positive. Though, in truth, she was more than a little concerned and wondered if time would be all that was needed to heal this rift.

"I'm sure you must think me to be terribly devious," Mary said, taking a moment to sip her tea.

"No!" Molly jumped to assure her.

"I would certainly understand if anyone did feel that way. Yes," Mary said with a sigh. "I should have been completely candid with John before the wedding, and I've realized that all too clearly now. But you have to understand that I thought I would be taking a risk in telling him, and I thought it wasn't a necessary one."

"Had you planned to tell him at a later time?"

"Perhaps," Mary shrugged. "But I knew that whether I shared the truth or not, I would not be at this profession for long. As a married woman, the complications are minimal. But as a mother…well, that is a completely different world. And it is a world in which I cannot continue in my present profession. That is a risk I could not imagine myself taking."

"And did the elder Mr. Holmes know you hadn't planned to stay on for much longer?" Molly asked.

"I told him before I married John. I made it clear that if and when we started a family, I would have no choice but to resign. He even understood, and I was rather pleased that my exit would be seamless. I would leave the newspaper of course, and that would be the job that John would believe I left behind." She looked forlorn. "Perhaps I should have known better."

"I wish Sherlock hadn't got himself involved in such a way," Molly said apologetically.

Mary smiled kindly at her friend. "I am not angry at Mr. Holmes, not really. I do understand what he did and why he did it. I would do no less if I believed my friend was being lied to by someone they love. How could he not pursue such a thing? Naturally, I wish he had simply come to me at a private moment. But I suppose we can only move forward now."

"I do pray that Dr. Watson will be willing to do so soon, for your sake," Molly said with a little sigh.

"You've been very kind," Mary said softly. "I shall be very grateful for your kindness in the near future as well-" Her voice broke and her eyes welled.

"Oh, Mary," Molly murmured, gently rubbing her back in slow circles.

"What if he doesn't…come around by that time?" Mary asked, wiping at her eyes again. "Will our child suffer rejection just as I'm suffering? Perhaps I can learn to live with this for myself, but I cannot endure seeing it happen to our baby!"

Molly shook her head vehemently. "No, no, I cannot believe Dr. Watson capable of that. And I firmly believe that you'll be a united and happy family by the time that day arrives. You just wait and see," she said as cheerfully as possible.

Mary nodded and tried to smile, though it was clear she wasn't fully convinced. She laughed at herself a bit as she kept dabbing at her eyes. "Blast these tears! I can't even remember the last time I went a day without being a blubbering fool! I've never felt this emotional before." She nudged Molly playfully. "No doubt you'll soon find out for yourself."

Molly couldn't help blushing and smiling, but she didn't want to detract from the situation at hand. "Sherlock and I…that's not important right now."

Mary gave her hand a little shake. "That is not true! Your marriage is just as important. And acknowledging the joy in your own union does not somehow make the problems in mine worse! In fact, I wish you would tell me how things are. I would give anything for a bit of distraction at the moment! Please, do tell me. How is it? Are you adjusting all right? Is Sherlock treating you well?"

Molly was still a bit self-conscious to expound on her happily married life, but she understood why Mary would want distraction, so tried to do what she could for her friend.

"Well, things are…lovely," she said with a hesitant smile. "Sherlock is lovely, possibly more so than I imagined he would be. I suppose I could say I'm pleasantly surprised."

"I'm very glad to hear it." Mary said with a smile, and then she laughed. "I knew he had it in him, buried under all that ridiculous genius!"

"Well, he's still Sherlock Holmes…a bit mad," Molly said with a humorous expression. "But I do love it all, even his bit of madness. I'm sure I'm a bit mad myself, so it seems that we fit well."

"I've always seen that you did. I'm glad that Sherlock came to his senses before someone else came along and stole your heart."

Molly smirked. "I doubt it would have worked. I don't believe I've been in possession of my heart since I met that silly man!"

Mary's expression turned serious again. "Never let what you have slip away, Molly. Do not ever let each other go."

Molly nodded and then gathered Mary in for a hug, seeing it clearly written on her face that she needed one. She wished more than anything that she had the power to take away the Watsons troubles, just with the snap of her fingers. She would do it in a heartbeat if she could.

* * *

A few weeks later, Molly woke up and smiled at the sight of her husband still sleeping like a baby. She knew he got in awfully late, though she wasn't completely sure of the time. She didn't want to disturb him, so she just planted a very soft little kiss on his temple before getting up and dressing herself.

She finished buttoning her collar as she walked out into the kitchen, and as she did, she noticed the sound of someone in the living room. Just before she was able to rush back in the bedroom to wake Sherlock, she heard a familiar throat being cleared and her fears were extinguished.

Molly peeked around the corner and saw John Watson sitting up on the couch and rubbing his eyes. "Well good morning, Dr. Watson," she said with a little smile.

"Yes, good morning, Mrs. Holmes," he answered in a groggy voice. "I do hope we didn't disturb you in the middle of the night."

"Oh no, not at all," she said, filling the kettle. "Tea?"

"Mm, yes please," John said, getting up and pulling his jacket over his shoulders.

He came over and sat at the table, still rubbing his face and looking like death warmed over. Molly watched him in cautious silence for a few minutes as she prepared the tea and got the cups. Her husband wasn't the only one who could make some quick deductions, and Molly could easily tell that this was a man who was suffering.

Molly cleared her throat as she set the cup and saucer down in front of John and slid the milk and sugar over closer to him. "Was Mary aware of where you were all night?" she asked softly.

John kept his eyes on the cup in front of him. "Not exactly. But she knew that Holmes and I were working a case. I'm sure she figured things out. It's not the first time I've been out at all hours."

Molly knew that was true. In fact, this was probably the sixth time in the past few weeks that John had his few meager hours of rest at Baker St instead of his own flat. There was always the excuse of a late case, but of course that wouldn't have stopped him from rushing back to Mary before he'd been religiously keeping his distance from her.

"Still, she must be a bit worried," Molly began. "Dr. Watson-"

"Mrs. Holmes, please," John said in a mildly warning tone. "I understand that you are concerned, but with all due respect, this is not an area you are familiar with."

Molly frowned, a bit annoyed at John's rather harsh words. "Dr. Watson," she said more firmly. "With all due respect, I have to disagree with you."

"Has your husband ever lied to you, then?" John questioned.

"No," Molly admitted. "But I don't believe that's the only thing that troubles you. In fact, I believe that what troubles you most is something completely different."

John stared back at her evenly.

"You're bothered because you saw her as a different sort of woman. And I believe that you're a bit…afraid of the woman she truly is."

The look in John's eyes told her she struck a chord, and so she went on.

"Do you really believe that I know nothing about that sort of thing?" Molly asked with a little chuckle. "Do you think I know nothing of loving someone who is a bit out of the ordinary? And perhaps even frightens you a bit? We could both talk all day about how we didn't imagine we would be with the people we are with. But in the end, how could we possibly be with anyone else? In reality, that is what would make no sense."

John shook his head. "She was not…supposed to be that woman. My wife was meant to be the chance to have something normal in among the life that I lead." He poured some milk in his tea and stirred it rapidly.

Molly huffed a little. "She is your life. She's part of the life you lead, and you can't have it both ways. Of course she is who she is! You would not have fallen in love with her if she was any different! What man do you think I could have fallen in love with if not the sort of man that Sherlock is? A banker? A lawyer? Honestly, the very thought is ridiculous, if I am honest with myself. Just as it is ridiculous that you would have fallen in love with a decidedly 'normal' young lady!"

"I fell in love with the woman I thought she was," John said and got up from his seat after taking only a brief sip from his cup.

"Yes, you did," Molly agreed. "The woman who fell in love with you. Perhaps you should also think about that. You and I are not so very common place ourselves. How many men would fall in love with a woman who slices up dead bodies as her chosen career instead of pursuing a marriage and children?" She paused and then spoke pointedly. "How many ladies would want to spend their life with and start a family with a man who risks his life to run around the streets of London in order to solve crimes with Sherlock Holmes…simply because he enjoys it so very much?"

John stared intensely at her, and Molly could tell that he was holding back his response for the sake of propriety. _Good,_ she thought. _That means I can say whatever is needed._

"Perhaps we should be thankful that such amazing, intelligent, and talented individuals have chosen _us,_ " Molly said, meeting his gaze with equal intensity.

Molly saw something crack in John's expression, and he looked away for a moment. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke very softly. "All I can say right at this moment is that I am still thinking very seriously. I can give you no answer…because I have none." He shrugged, looking a little helpless.

Molly nodded, and smiled a little, not wanting him to feel that she was attacking him. That was not her intention. "I am glad to hear it. Please do think about what I said, Dr. Watson. We care about both you and Mrs. Watson. And I can tell you most honestly that we only want for all three of you to end up happy."

John nodded, and Molly thought she even saw a little glisten of moisture in his eyes as he pursed his lips. He picked up his hat, set it on his head, and tipped it politely in her direction before exiting the flat.

Molly exhaled heavily and took a seat at the table. She could only pray that she had said something, anything, that got through to him.

* * *

Sherlock took another case that day, and Molly didn't see him till late that night. She was sitting by the window with a cup of warm milk by the time he walked in.

"Hello," he murmured while setting his coat on the rack.

"Hello," she mimicked and smiled at him through the candlelit room.

"I thought you'd be in bed by now," Sherlock said as he approached the chair.

Molly shrugged. "I couldn't sleep," she said with a sigh.

Sherlock nodded silently, and spoke a moment later. "Could it be anything to do with the conversation you had with a certain Doctor this morning?"

Molly looked up at him and smiled. "Did he tell you?"

"No." Sherlock smirked. "But I am excellent at eavesdropping when people think I'm asleep."

Molly giggled and then took another sip from her cup. "Was I too harsh, do you think?"

Sherlock shook his head as he took a seat across from her while loosening his tie. "On the contrary, I am glad you had your say. I fear I cannot broach the subject with Watson any more than I already have. Goodness knows we spend enough time together that I could speak to him, since he has been insistent on working as much as possible at the moment. But it seems that bringing it up only serves to push him away and make him angrier. Perhaps it was all the better coming from someone else."

"I'm glad you approve," Molly said softly, but sighed heavily.

Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of his lips and stared at his wife. "Molly?" He could tell there was more bothering her now.

She looked up at him and her eyes were already misty. "This is all so…frightening to me. They were happy such a very short time ago. And suddenly all that changed. Now the two of them are strangers living in the same flat, unsure if they can continue sharing a life together at all! How can a marriage change so rapidly? How can the love that they felt suddenly mean so little?" Molly drew a shaky breath and set her cup down in order to wipe at her eyes.

Sherlock leaned forward and grasped her hands, looking at her with a fire burning in his eyes. "That will never happen to us," he said, carefully emphasizing each word.

Molly shook her head. "Forgive me, I'm not questioning you or our marriage," she said, now feeling a bit guilty to have spoken the words.

Sherlock didn't say anything, because at first he wasn't sure what to say. He knew that an event like this, with people they were close to, would naturally cause Molly to feel some sort of…insecurity. But he never wanted her to feel anything but perfectly security in their union.

He tugged gently at her hands, pulling her up and off her chair. He eased her down onto his lap and then grasped her face. "I am not always a sensitive man, Molly. I may not always do or say the right things. In fact, you may count on the fact that I won't. But I never want to give you reason to doubt my love for you. If you ever doubt that I need you, even for a moment, you need only ask me. I swear that my answer will always be the same," he whispered vehemently.

Molly's smiled at his much needed words that went straight to her heart and warmed her from head to toe. "Perhaps I'd like to hear it now…what you need," she whispered.

"You," was Sherlock's instant answer. "It will _always_ be you."

Their lips connected almost the moment his last word was uttered, both of them moving to close the distance with equal force and passion. Molly reached up and almost violently pulled Sherlock's tie from his shirt collar as he began trying to work at the million tiny buttons that went the length of his wife's blouse. He cursed the current women's fashion and became too impatient to deal with this while sitting here in his living room chair, deciding instead to lift her in his arms and move them down the hall as Molly clung tightly to him…

There was something especially desperate between them that night, as if they both badly needed reassurance: the proof that they had each other and that was never going to change. It was certainly understandable though. It could logically be attributed it to the conversation they had just shared.

But it wasn't very long after that Sherlock would question if it was something even more poignant that was expressed between himself and Molly that night. As early as the very next day, he would come to wonder if their mutual desperation to prove they'd never lose each other truly stemmed from something much worse…something that was actually _about to happen._

They could very well be about to lose each other.


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock's eyes widened as he read the note that Wiggins had handed him. "Are you certain?"

Wiggins nodded. "Yes, Mr. Holmes. The man himself gave it to me."

Sherlock folded up the paper and stuck it in his breast pocket. He swallowed hard and glanced down the hall to where his wife was still sleeping. Then he hurried over to the desk and scribbled a note before coming back over to Wiggins and looking him in the eyes almost menacingly. "Mrs. Holmes will understand that I am working an _urgent case._ Do you understand?"

Wiggins hesitated, which prompted Sherlock to grasp his arm and speak even more firmly. " _For everyone's safety,_ I am on a case!"

Wiggins set his jaw firmly, and then nodded. "Yes, Mr. Holmes…on a case," he replied quietly.

Sherlock nodded in return. "Thank you, Wiggins, that will be all."

The man left, tightly grasping his hat and still looking a little disturbed. After he'd gone, Sherlock hurried down the hallway. He very quietly entered the bedroom and his chest tightened immediately as he took in the angelic sight of Molly amongst the bedding, her hair spread out a bit messily. She lay on her stomach with the blankets only halfway up her back, leaving the rest of her skin exposed. Sherlock so desperately wanted to reach out and touch that velvety skin, because he couldn't help but think…what if this is the last time?

But he couldn't. He couldn't run the risk of waking her. He needed to set the note down and leave the flat. As Sherlock laid it on the pillow near her, he could only hope that she would forgive him for whatever was about to happen, and that she would understand he was only doing what he thought was right.

Sherlock took one more look at her, bathed in the new morning sunlight…and then he quickly left before his heart could hold him back any longer.

* * *

Molly lifted her head and stretched a little as she let out a very contented sigh. She was disappointed to see that Sherlock was up already. She only noticed the piece of paper when she moved her arm around. Molly grabbed it and read the quick scribbles of her husband.

_I was needed at an urgent case. Forgive me, I wish I could still be there with you right now._

_I love you,_

_Sherlock_

Molly smiled at his note. She certainly wished he was still here as well, especially given the fact that she wasn't needed at Bart's today. She would have very much liked to spend the day right here if Sherlock hadn't needed to work a case. But, no matter. She decided to get up and dress herself. May as well use the day productively now, and simply look forward to his return later.

She got up, washed, dressed, and pinned her hair. She decided to keep herself busy working on mending one of Sherlock coats. He had lost of coats…and there was a reason for that. They were kept in very frequent rotation.

As Molly sat in her husband's leather chair and worked at a tear in the sleeve of his coat while smiling to herself at the recollection of the previous night, she was surprised to hear a knock at the door and a voice she recognized.

"Mrs. Holmes, are you there?"

Molly set the coat aside and hurried to the door. She opened it to see the nervous looking man looking back at her. "Mr. Wiggins, good morning. What can I help you with?"

"I- I'm sorry, Mrs. Holmes. It just…it didn't seem right…not tellin you." He was wringing his hat in his hands.

Molly's blood began to run cold as soon as she saw the concern in his eyes. Something wasn't right, and this could only be in connection with one person.

"Wiggins," she said, her voice turning deadly serious. "Tell me what's happened."

"He told me not to say, Mrs. Holmes. But I just couldn't." He shook his head. "I hope I'm doing the right thing by coming to you. Mr. Holmes, he…he's gone to meet that man…Professor Moriarty."

Molly's jaw dropped. "What? B-but why?"

"Because, Mrs. Holmes," Wiggins said, looking just as horrified. "Professor Moriarty's got Dr. Watson."

"He's got Dr. Watson?!" Molly asked, grabbing Wiggin's arm. "W-where are they?!"

"Mr. Holmes'll be meeting Professor Moriarty and Dr. Watson on Bart's rooftop at noon. No weapons, no coppers, just him…those were Moriarty's instructions. And Dr. Watson would die if Mr. Holmes didn't listen."

Molly whirled around and glanced at the clock. It was half past eleven already, so she knew there was no possibility of stopping Sherlock before he went up there. But that didn't mean she couldn't still try to save him from whatever risky stunt he was about to attempt.

"I'm going there," Molly announced, grabbing her hat from the hook on the wall.

"Mr. Holmes'll have my head if anything happens to you!" Wiggins exclaimed, beginning to think that he shouldn't have told Molly. "Perhaps you should inform the authorities," he offered.

"No." Molly shook her head. "I don't want the police showing up on that roof and costing someone their life. Moriarty seems mad enough to do it." Then she stopped suddenly, pausing mid-thought. She looked back at Wiggins and spoke as the plan began to formulate. "But I know who we do need to inform. Wiggins, go fetch a carriage quickly as you can! We're going to need to make a stop along the way to Bart's hospital."

* * *

The wind whipped at Sherlock's face as he walked along Bart's rooftop toward the two people he was there to meet. He held his hands out as he slowly made his way forward, demonstrating the fact that he was not armed.

Professor Moriarty stood pointing a pistol at John who was on his knees, his ankles and hands securely tied and a gag in his mouth.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty called out as he neared. "It has been _far_ too long."

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked as he came to a stop about five paces from the two of them.

"I wanted you to come and see us!" Moriarty said with a chuckle. "I simply wanted you present, Mr. Holmes. I would imagine that's obvious, considering the circumstances. If I wanted something from you, I would have asked you to bring it. No no," he said, shaking his head slowly and giving him a sinister smile. "I just wanted you."

"And here I am, just as you asked," Sherlock said simply. He glanced at the frightened eyes of his friend and then back at Moriarty. "Now that I am here, may I ask what sort of game we'll be playing?"

"Oooh, it's an awfully simply one, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty said as he pressed his pistol closer to John's head. "You're simply here to watch Dr. Watson die."

There was a moment of silence as they two men stared at each other. Sherlock glanced at John again who had closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Sherlock was struck with panic. It was like he saw the moment that John Watson's life flashed before his eyes.

"Professor Moriarty, I offer myself as an alternative," Sherlock heard himself say, before really thinking clearly. "Perhaps we can negotiate this as a sort of trade."

As Moriarty began laughing, John began trying to say something that was muffled by the cloth in his mouth.

"Seems Dr. Watson would like to speak," Moriarty said, and tugged the cloth off John's head. "Go on…say what you'd like!"

"Holmes, get off this roof right this instant," John said in a highly charged voice. "He's going to kill me anyway. Leave and get somewhere safe before he tries to kill us both!"

Sherlock ignored John's plea and spoke to Moriarty again. "Why are you doing this? Exactly what is your motivation? You've barely had any dealings with Dr. Watson, and suddenly you want him dead…why?" To be frank, Moriarty's twisted reasoning didn't make any difference to Sherlock, but the only option he had at the moment was to keep the lunatic talking. At least it would buy him some time to think.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm surprised at you. Can you not recognize some good old fashioned retribution? An eye for an eye? Or in this case, a man for a man."

Sherlock frowned. "What man?"

Moriarty huffed. "So very insignificant to you, I see. Perhaps I'll have to remind you… _about the man you killed recently!_ "

Recognition spread over Sherlock's features. "Sebastian Moran," he spoke softly.

"I do hope you realize how difficult it is to find good help these days, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty said with a click of his tongue. "And a right hand man…not easy to replace."

"Moran was your right hand man," Sherlock acknowledged as he also began trying to make some quick calculations about the distance between himself, the two men, and the edge of the roof…and exactly what to do with said information.

"You have been terribly troublesome to me of late, Mr. Holmes, you truly have," Moriarty said, shaking his head and pursing his lips. "Terribly troublesome. But killing Mr. Moran…that was especially inconvenient. And it got me to thinking, how very inconvenient it would be for you…if you were to lose your right hand man as well!" His eyes brightened disturbingly.

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "I killed Moran out of self-defense…I was not even sure he worked for you at the time," he said as he carefully took a step forward. "It was not an act of war against you!"

"But this is war, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty said with a sneer. "Surely you must know that already." He grasped John's arm and renewed the aim of his weapon. "I believe you both know that."

"Holmes, please," John attempted again. "Please just go…and will you tell Mary-" He paused, seeming to need to compose himself. "Holmes, please tell Mary that I love her…and I'm sorry."

"No…no," Sherlock murmured. He was concerned about making a move, any sort of move. It seemed likely that anything he attempted would result in John getting shot anyway, and it was making things complicated that Moriarty wasn't willing to bargain with a trade. He couldn't let this happen though…he simply couldn't allow John to die up here on this day. Not like this. And especially not as a payback for something _he_ did _._

Just as Sherlock was about to attempt negotiations again, they all turned their heads at the creak of the roof door opening. Sherlock nearly dropped to his knees in horror when the door closed again…and there stood Molly.

"Sherlock," Molly spoke his name softly as their wide eyed gazes connected.

Sherlock immediately looked at Moriarty, more visibly panicked now. "I had no idea," he said firmly. "I told her nothing about where I was going. Please just let her leave." He turned back to his wife. "Molly, leave this roof now!"

"No," she said softly but resolutely as she advanced toward them. "Please don't be angry at Wiggins. He thought it right that I should know."

"Oh, I don't mind!" Moriarty said sweetly. "Mr. Holmes, I may have instructed you to come alone, but how could I resist the addition of such a lovely guest now that she's here? Do join us, _Mrs. Holmes,_ and accept my belated congratulations as well!"

"Holmes, take your wife and _leave this roof!"_ John pleaded. "Molly, please make him leave with you."

"All three of us are leaving," Molly said in her voice that was barely steady. "Alive," she specified.

"Dear Dr. Holmes, please don't get in the way," Moriarty said with a little smile at her. "You're being awfully foolish to get involved. You should really let the men handle this one."

Molly's eyes hardened and she stepped between where Sherlock stood and where Moriarty and John were.

"Molly, move!" Sherlock instructed, but she ignored him.

"Professor Moriarty, please reconsider," Molly tried. "Please just let us leave and you can go about your business, completely unbothered by us. I'm sure my husband will agree that's for the best."

Moriarty laughed. "I've been bothered by your infuriating husband for months now!" he bellowed. "And it's time I put a stop to it. And to be very honest, I must say it's rather convenient that you're here now. Because although it would really put a damper on Mr. Holmes work to lose Dr. Watson, just imagine what it would do to his mind _and heart_ …if he were to lose _you."_

"Moriarty!" Sherlock growled. "You dare to even think of such a thing again and-"

"I'll be fine, Sherlock! Look at me!" Molly said firmly, turning halfway to look at him. And she repeated herself, securely locking eyes with him. "I'll be fine."

Sherlock's brow furrowed very slightly as he read the look in his wife's eyes. He stared at her…and then he looked her up and down very quickly, and it made him realize a small detail…something he almost missed. His fear was far from extinguished, but he did know one thing for sure. And it was enough to give him a sliver of hope.

He understood that Molly knew exactly what she was doing when she came up on this roof.

"Professor Moriarty, please," Molly said, turning her attention to him again. "I feel sure that we can work this all out somehow." She walked slowly toward him, but then more to her left which put her a bit closer to the edge of the roof.

Moriarty began chuckling again. He glanced at Sherlock. "Your wife is as mad as you are, you know that? I imagine that's what made you break down and marry the woman! Something to occupy your mind and _entertain you_ even without a case to solve. Brilliant, I dare say."

Molly looked over at Sherlock who seemed ready to leap about ten feet at the drop of a hat. She tried to tell him with her eyes; tell him that everything would be all right and that she had things under control…she hoped. And then she looked back at Moriarty.

"I can't let you do this. I can't let you hurt my husband, or Dr. Watson," she said with only a slight tremor in her voice. "And I believe you underestimate me, Professor…how far I'm willing to go."

"Oh I wouldn't say that, my dear Mrs. Holmes," Moriarty answered, his eyes narrowing at her. "I believe I know what little you're capable of."

"Do you?" Molly asked softly. She glanced at Sherlock one more time before unexpectedly turning and leaning in the direction of the roof's edge. She cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed as loud as her lungs could manage. "Help! Police! Help! Up on the roof! Hel-"

_Bang._

Molly's ears rang from the noise as she felt the bullet like someone had punched her as hard as possible in the back. She honestly hadn't expected it to feel like that, though she wasn't really sure what she'd feel. She sunk down, collapsing on the ground as she heard Sherlock and John both yell in horror…

It was all so fast, so very fast. In almost the same moment that Molly was hit by the bullet and fell to the ground, both Sherlock and John jumped at the sound of another gun shot. As for John, he was first shocked by the realization that blood had just splattered all over him, and then all over again a second later when Moriarty suddenly fell right on top of him, nothing but a dead weight.

"Who fired the other shot?!" Sherlock asked as he rushed over and shoved Moriarty off of John, seeing the gruesome bullet wound in the back of his head as he did.

"Holmes, never mind me! Your wife! Get your wife!" John screamed in protest.

"Yes, yes, I know!" Sherlock answered rapidly. "Though, I do believe…" he added as he got up and went to kneel where Molly lay, and then his lips began to lift in a relieved smile. "I believe my wife will be just fine."

John's jaw dropped and he let out a relieved sigh as he watched Molly push herself to sit up, without much assistance from Sherlock, and smiled at him. "Did Moriarty miss her?" John asked incredulously.

"No," Sherlock said with a proud smile. "But he did, in reality, underestimate her." Sherlock reached down and knocked his fist on his wife's abdomen, creating a low sound.

John frowned. "W-what was that?"

The answer came from an unexpected voice by the roof door. "A bullet proof corset, which she got from me."

Mary Watson stepped out from behind the door…holding a pistol in her right hand.

John looked from his wife to the dead Moriarty next to him. "You shot him," he said, looking like he'd just seen a ghost.

Mary strolled over, keeping her eyes on John. "Yes, I did. And Mrs. Holmes did a remarkably brilliant job of doing exactly what I instructed. Not only creating a loud distraction, but also turning his back to the door. I was able to easily get a clear shot." She smiled at Molly, who she was relieved to see looked completely unharmed.

"You were right," Molly said to Mary. "It did still hurt!" She reached around and grasped at her back.

John turned to Sherlock, still looking shocked. "How did you know?"

"In truth, I didn't know most of it," Sherlock admitted as he helped Molly stand up. "But what I realized once Molly was standing right in front of me, was that she was wearing some very unusual kind of undergarment. She was wearing a corset, but not just any corset. Based on the fact that she'd bothered to put herself in danger on this rooftop and yet she seemed so especially confident, I could naturally deduce that she was wearing something protective. She certainly came up here with a plan in hand."

"You could tell that just from a glance?" John asked in amazement.

Sherlock chuckled. "Oh, Watson, don't you know me at all?"

John got up as Sherlock helped untie him, and then he looked at Mary. "And you and Molly did this, expecting she would end up getting shot?"

"I simply wanted to be prepared," Mary clarified. "When Molly came to me and told me what Wiggins had told her, I knew we needed to do something, or likely one of the two of you would end up dead. Since I'm the one with shooting experience, it had to be Molly that came out on the roof." She looked at Sherlock. "Forgive me, of course I didn't want anything to happen to Molly. But I thought this was the most likely plan to succeed."

Sherlock walked over, took Mary's hand, and brought it to his lips to press a friendly kiss to it. He smiled at her afterward. "You've done nothing that needs forgiving, Mrs. Watson."

John peered over at Moriarty's body. "Quite a um…impressive shot," he admitted, glancing at Mary.

She cleared her throat. "Despite the circumstances, I hadn't absolutely planned on killing him. But when he shot Molly…well, that certainly made my decision for me. And," she added. "I do not typically work with weapons, although I have had training. Just…if you were wondering."

John nodded and then looked away.

Molly was busy clinging to Sherlock's neck as the Watsons had turned their attention to each other. "I thought I might lose you today," she whispered in his neck.

"You might have," he answered somberly. "Forgive me. I simply couldn't let Watson die. You see, Mrs. Watson and the baby-"

"I know, I know," Molly acknowledged, holding him tighter. "I understand. But I just couldn't let you make some sort of tragic sacrifice. I know you would have."

"Perhaps I made the same mistake that Moriarty did: underestimating you. In the future I may think twice before I leave you out of life threatening situations," Sherlock said with a small laugh.

Molly smiled at him and was about to kiss him when they heard steps and voices ascending the stairs to the roof. "Oh, that'll be the police, I'm sure. I did yell rather loudly."

Suddenly, John put his hand out to Mary, speaking rapidly. "Give me the gun!"

She stared back at him, realizing the meaning behind his request. "John…"

"Quickly, give me the gun!" he repeated, and finally she handed it over just before the rooftop door opened.

Inspector Lestrade came onto the roof cautiously, then seeing the scenario, he relaxed a bit. "Good God, what's going on up here on a Tuesday afternoon? I was just round the corner when I heard someone yelling and then shots fired," he said as he approached the dead body. "Who's this now?"

"That…would be Professor James Moriarty," Sherlock said, walking over to join Lestrade. "He shot at my wife."

"What?!" Lestrade looked at Molly in horror. "Are you all right?"

"I am, thank you," Molly said with a little smile. "I was wearing something protective." She turned around, showing Lestrade the hole in her blouse which revealed metal beneath.

"My goodness!" Lestrade exclaimed, and then looked back at Sherlock. "Some contraption of yours?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well, as a matter of fact, it um…came from Myrcoft," he said with a little glance at Mary, who gave him a secret smile which confirmed that he'd actually just told the truth.

Lestrade put his hands on his hips and nodded in the direction of Moriarty's body. "And who shot him?"

"I did," John spoke up loud and clear, approaching while still holding the gun.

"I see," Lestrade said, clapping a hand on John's shoulder. "Well done then," he said with a nod. "I'll need you to come to the station of course, for a written statement. But of course there will be no charges. This was certainly justifiable."

"Naturally, yes," John agreed. "And I'll come with you, it's no trouble. Just um," He glanced at Mary. "Give me a moment, will you?"

"Of course," Lestrade agreed kindly. "I'll just wait by the door."

As John set the gun down and passed by Sherlock, he grabbed John gently by the arm. "Watson, I hope you've not forgotten a certain message you asked me to pass on to your wife when you expected to be dead soon after," he said with a pointed look.

"Indeed, I have not," John answered with a smirk.

"Oh good," Sherlock said. "Because I imagine that now you're alive and well, it would be all the better coming from you."

The two friends exchanged a smile and John was released to walk over to Mary.

Mary looked a bit nervous as her husband approached. John stopped in front of her and rocked on his heels for a moment, obviously a bit uncomfortable himself.

"Are you…feeling all right?" he finally asked.

Mary nodded. "I am, yes, thank you. Glad Mrs. Holmes was so very helpful though. Not sure I'd have been able to fit in that corset," she said with a chuckle. "Things are getting a bit snug."

"Mary," John said suddenly serious. "I thought I was going to die today."

"Yes, I know," she said softly.

"I admit to having many troublesome times in my life up till now. But all I could think in that moment was that I wished to God I could relive the past few weeks. I've never felt regret like that before."

Mary drew a shaky breath. "I was scared as well. The thought of something happening to you now…with how you feel-"

John suddenly grasped her face in his palms and spoke intensely. "How I feel right now is that I love my wife."

Mary began crying, as well as beaming at her husband.

"Do you hear me, Mary? I love you. I was angry, and I admit I still wish I had known the whole truth from the beginning…but I forgive you. I had already realized I couldn't live without you by last night. But I was scared and I didn't know how to talk to you yet. I almost missed the chance, and I hated myself for that!"

Mary lunged forward and kissed him soundly. "It's all right," she murmured when pulling away. "We have all the time in the world now. I wasn't going to let anyone take you from us." She gave him a little wink.

John sighed contentedly at the feeling of having his wife in his arms again. "I have to go with the Inspector. But we will talk more at home, all right?"

Mary nodded happily. "All right…and I love you too."

John kissed her on the forehead, and as he walked away he gave her especially precious abdomen a quick caress.

After he had gone, Mary passed by Sherlock and Molly who were standing over by the other end of the roof. "Afternoon, you two," she said with a smile.

"Mrs. Watson, thank you again," Sherlock said sincerely.

Molly gave her a quick hug. "I'll get this back to you," she said, gesturing to her middle with a little laugh.

"No rush, my dear! Unless the elder Mr. Holmes comes looking for it." She grimaced humorously.

"Looking for what?" The voice of the man himself interrupted their conversation as Mycroft stepped through the doorway behind the coroners who were coming to collect the body.

"Ah, brother, I'm not surprised to find you here. Did you smell the possible threat to security all the way across town?" Sherlock asked with a chuckle.

"Actually, Mrs. Watson and I had Wiggins go fetch him after we made our way to the hospital," Molly said with a smile.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Hardly necessary."

"Up on a rooftop, risking your own life, and it's hardly necessary to call for me?" Mycroft huffed. "Honestly, Sherlock, sometimes I think you are just very good at pretending to be intelligent." He may have been hurling insults, but the look in his eyes only conveyed brotherly concern.

"Yes well, the women had it well in hand," Sherlock said with a wink at Molly and Mary.

Mycroft glanced at the men who were gathering up Moriarty's body. He looked at Mary pointedly, knowing that there may well be a connection to why she was up here on the roof.

"Not to worry," Sherlock said, knowing what his brother was thinking. "Dr. Watson immediately confessed to shooting the mad man. He is off with Inspector Lestrade to make a formal statement as we speak."

"Ah," Mycroft said, breathing a small sigh of relief. "I am glad to hear it. Anything else may have caused a bit of…mess. Good of Dr. Watson to be so obliging…considering the circumstances."

"The circumstances are much improved, Mr. Holmes," Mary said to her boss, with a much lighter heart than she'd felt in weeks. "I cannot promise that my husband won't still be a bit testy the next time you meet, but at least things are on the mend."

"I am no sentimental man, but I willingly admit that I'm glad to hear it. Perhaps you would like a ride back to your flat, Mrs. Watson," Mycroft offered, attempting a rare gentlemanly gesture. "I am sure Dr. Watson would like for you to arrive home safely while he's occupied at the Yard."

"Yes, that would be much appreciated, thank you," Mary admitted with a smile. The Holmes men certainly had their virtues if you gave them a chance and looked close enough.

"Well then I will escort you back down the stairs," Mycroft said, extending his arm. He looked back at Sherlock and Molly. "I am pleased to see that things turned out as well as could be expected. Good day then, brother mine…and Mrs. Holmes." He tipped his hat and gave them a half smile before walking off with Mary to the door.

Sherlock turned and looked at Molly again, happy to be alone. "I don't deserve you."

"Nonsense!" Molly said with a little giggle. "Besides, I certainly couldn't let anyone kill you…not after last night." She looked up at him playfully, and leaned into his chest.

The men wrapped up and carried Moriarty's body across the rooftop and were making their way through the door, but Sherlock and Molly barely even noticed anyone else but each other.

"Are you rather attached to me then, Mrs. Holmes?" Sherlock asked with a smirk. "I am glad to hear you feel unable to do without me. Things are working according to my plan, it would seem!"

Molly laughed and rested her cheek against his heart. "I confess, your plan has worked. I believe I would have done just about anything that was necessary to keep you alive today." She tapped on her protected torso. "Armor, or not!"

"Awfully confident," Sherlock said fondly as he turned and wrapped an arm around her shoulder and they both looked out onto the London skyline.

"I am, I suppose," Molly said, realizing it was true. Today, when she ventured onto this roof, she had felt so very sure. She knew in her heart that she would be able to save Sherlock, one way or another. "So, what now?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Back to our lives. Back to the work; solving cases, and cutting up bodies…and experiments," he whispered against the top of her head, purposely creating a double meaning simply with the tone of his voice.

Molly grinned. "Mm, life sounds…lovely," she whispered back happily. But then she turned and looked up at him seriously. "And should you ever be in danger again, Mr. Holmes, you are to immediately come to me. Is that understood?"

He planted a kiss on her forehead and then smiled down at her. "Perfectly understood, yes."

"Good," she said with a little nod of satisfaction. "That way, if there is a next time, we can have the luxury of coming up with a brilliant plan together!"

"Hm, that would be preferable" Sherlock said, nodding. "Perhaps a sort of…rooftop escape for the next adventure?"

"I believe I could manage that," Molly chirped merrily as she wrapped her arm around Sherlock's waist. "You could always just jump off…I'd be sure to save you."

Sherlock couldn't help but remember the very first day he met her, down in the basement of the very building on which they now stood, and how she'd taken his breath away even then…before he fully realized it. And what he said to John on the way home from the hospital had proven to be true in many more ways than he realized. He'd announced his refusal to work with anyone but her from then on.

He smiled as he hugged his wife closer. Because for all the silliness and hesitance of their relationship earlier on, he'd long since learned that _this_ was what made life worth living. It was her. And he'd never allow himself to forget that. He needed her in _every_ aspect of life, not just some. And he couldn't help but feel warmed with her snuggled at his side. Because although this particular conversation was not a terribly serious one, he knew that deep down, Molly genuinely meant what she said. And what was more, he believed her with every fiber of his being.

She would always save him.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! As I mentioned before, this was previously updated on Fanfiction. I didn't include my author's notes when I copied the chapters over here because...well, who really wants to hear me blab even more lol? But in case you want the extra insight into my thoughts on each chapter, it is all over on that site. ;) Big thanks to MizJoely for beta reading this fic for me! Thanks again and see you guys later! :D


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